


Animals

by goresque



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Background Relationships, Extremely Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, Loss of Virginity, Mech Preg, Other, Religion, Religious Sex, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Stockholm Syndrome, barbarian au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9366326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goresque/pseuds/goresque
Summary: Seeking to better relations between Iacon and the nomadic tribesmecha of the Wastelands, Optimus Prime reaches out through the mission work of the church.In Optimus's humble opinion, Primus Had a terrible sense of humor.Barbarian AU





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A little something I wrote to jump on the barbarian au bandwagon. 
> 
> Lots of continuity mixing. Prime, Animated, and Bayverse all show some influence.

It had been going so well. He thought it had, anyway.

Optimus had tried to keep his prejudice at bay. The nomadic Cybertronians who roamed The Wastes in tribes of dozens had looked exactly like the stories said; rough, dark, their optics like glowing red jewels, but he’d reserved his judgment. They were, after all, there to negotiate peace.

The tribesmech had rode up to the gates on massive zap-horses, and the gunmetal gray mech at the head of the group was mounted upon a titanium-moose stag. It was an intimidating sight, to see such a monstrous mech astride a mountain of a beast. Dismounted he was eye level with the stag, one servo sliding off its mane.

Optimus had waited at the gates, behind the armed guards and grasping for the hand of his translator. It was a moment of weakness, searching for reassurance. Drift had only patted his arm and given him a nod.

The gates opened with a deafening crack of gears and hydraulics. Optimus pushed through the guards, to see the massive mech before them. He'd come alone, but not unarmed. It took Optimus more than just stern words to ward off the elite guard.

Red optics stared at him for longer than was typically polite. Optimus tried not to let it bother him. “Please,” he said to Drift, “Tell him I want no energon shed over this.”

As Drift spoke, Optimus watched the tribesmech cycle his optics between Drift and the Prime. He answered Drift in smooth, and sharp, words that sounded more like grinding metal than a language. Optimus looked to his translator with a nervous eagerness.

“What did he say?”

“He wants to know who you are,” Drift said, his dermas pursing together and his head dipping down in reverence. Optimus thought he saw shame, but he kept his suspicions to himself. “He says you're different than the last mech he spoke with.”

Optimus looked to the imposing mech before him, and raised a hand to his chest. “Optimus Prime.” He knew that would be enough for his name. “Drift, please tell him I have taken over in the event of Zeta’s demise. I want to mend what wrongs have been done to the tribes in The Wastes.”

“Don't call it that,” Drift corrected, rather quickly. He was nervous, shifting on his pedes as he glanced back to the tribal mech before them. “He understands some Neocybex. We- They. They call it the Badlands. It's an insult to say they live in waste.”

Optimus didn't understand- he would think it a mark of pride that these noble mecha could survive in wastelands. Instead he inclined his head to the other mech, who was perhaps even larger than himself, and amended his statement.

“Tell him I wish to right the wrongs that Zeta Prime inflicted upon the Badlands.”

Drift translated, occasionally flinching at harsh words and sounds that, oddly enough, seemed aimed at Drift and not Optimus. He didn't ask his translator. He knew the mech had come from the tribal mecha, but he had integrated himself into society since then. He trusted Drift to act professional.

The mech nodded along with Drift’s translations. He stared back at Optimus with a peculiar glint, clawed servos coming to rest along his jaw. His optics, like smelting pits, were focused on Optimus, only occasionally grunting at Drift to let him know he was still listening. When he answered, he was gruff. Optimus took the time to analyze the words the mech used, piling away words and linguistics in his files. If he ever wanted to be on friendly terms with the nomadic mecha he would have to learn their language. It was only fair.

The mech looked to Optimus and nodded to him, a begrudged frown along his lips. He said a few words, pausing for Drift to translate.

“He says you are a… noble and idealistic mech. He only hopes the mech who replaces you upholds your beliefs.”

That was… ominous. Optimus shrugged away the tingling feeling it left in his tanks and he inclined his head once more. “Thank you, ah… May I ask your designation? Your name?”

The mech stared at him for a moment before pulling a fist over his spark. “Megatron. Of Tarn.”

That was a city Optimus knew well. It was an ancient legend, a place rumored to never have even existed. He reserved his judgement. Perhaps these mecha considered themselves descendants of the great city, or perhaps they had history and roots to it. He wouldn't dismiss it merely because of his own background.

“Megatron of Tarn,” Optimus said, loud enough for his guard to hear. He approached Megatron with a hand held out, waiting to seal the deal. “I am grateful for the diplomatic opportunity placed before us. Let there be peace between our lands.”

Megatron stepped forward as well, staring at the servo offered to him. He waited, before hesitantly holding his own hand open, palm up. Optimus guided their hands together, and squeezed, offering up only a smile. Megatron nodded, understanding then. He shook Optimus’ hand with confidence then, and pulled them together, his other arm wrapping around to give Optimus a hearty thump on the back with their chests together.

“He says you are a honorable mech, unlike your predecessor,” Drift translated, once Megatron had spoken and allowed distance between their frames. He looked tense again, unsettled by what he'd witnessed.

Optimus nodded and heaved a long vent of relief. “I hope there is a long and prosperous relationship between us,” he said, relaxing his armor and allowing Megatron to see him grow calm.

This time it was Megatron who offered his hand, nodding along with Drift’s translation. He cupped Optimus’s offered hand in both of his with a solemn grunt-

And the next thing Optimus knew he was over Megatron’s shoulder and being carried off towards the titanium-moose and Megatron’s posse.


	2. this world left behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus reasons with himself, and makes a difficult choice regarding his Celibacy. 
> 
> Sentinel reacts to the news of Prime's kidnapping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: there is extremely dubious consent where the sex is concerned because Optimus has little to no choice but to consummate a bond with Megatron or not be allowed out. If you don't want to read it then please skip the scene. 
> 
> Note: regarding how Sentinel refers to Optimus, as acting Magnus he and Optimus are the same rank and therefor he does not have to refer to Optimus by the respected term "our Lord Prime." He abuses this power.

Whatever offensive thing he'd done, Optimus only wondered if kidnapping him was the only way to rectify it. Had he challenged Megatron’s honor? Had he insulted him? Whatever it was, Optimus was in no way prepared to deal with a long gallop over the lap of a mech who, at best, looked less than friendly. The motion had Optimus’s tanks rolling and a queasy bubble rolling in his abdomen. Every wiggle had been emphasized by a strong hand along his side, holding him close and down against the weathered saddle of the stag.

The position had him dizzy and disoriented, energon rushing to his helm and muddling up his processors. His last thought before slipping into stasis was that he only hoped the elite guard would be able to track him through the wastelands.

Upon waking, Optimus found himself under a broad, mesh ceiling. He could hear the acid rain above them pelting the mesh; for a moment he thought perhaps he would succumb to Cybertron’s volatile weather, until he realized everything was dry, and even warm.

He had been laid among mesh that had been sewn with gentle mesh around robochicken feathers. He smoothed his servos over it, and the pillows. He had been laid within a makeshift berth, nothing like the comfortable slabs and mesh he had become accustomed to as a Prime, but it was warm, and even soft. He had been taken. Optimus didn't know what for, but he knew that he had to remain calm.

Even so, he couldn't help but wonder if he had been kidnapped for some kind of ransom, or to be a slave, or even to be some sort of sacrifice. If he had any hope of coming out of this unscathed he had to find answers. Which was easier said than done when nobody in The Wastes could speak Neocybex.

Optimus glanced around his shelter, finding it looked very much like a berth room. It had a raised pad for a berth, and beside it a table with a cube of… energon jellies? Optimus reached out to pluck one from the cube, then glancing around like he were a sparkling sneaking rust sticks after recharge time.

It wasn't as sweet as he expected. It tasted like regular energon, like someone had jellied mid-grade. He ate only two before he decided to stop, lest his thievery be noticed.

The rest of the dwelling was fairly bare. Optimus slid the mesh covers off his frame, his joints aching from being hauled across the desert on his midsection. He opened drawers and casings, finding only weapons or tools, polishing rags and waxes that smelled expensive.

“Awake already?”

Optimus’s helm snapped to the front of the dwelling, where the hide was pulled away to reveal an opening. At the opening was a sweet red mech, clawed, yet delicate, servos resting on his curved hips. His wheels smelled fresh and he had a spicy wax that Optimus could see shining across his paint from the berth. He had the same luminescent red optics that Megatron had.

“You speak Neocybex.” Optimus clutched to this discovery.

“Mm, yes, I do. That's going to be a whole thing, I suppose. I'll have Lord Megatron talk to that ghastly Shockwave and he'll have to produce one of those convenient translation chips. Besides that, are you in any pain? And how do you like your buff? Breakdown is certainly a maestro with a rotary buffer.”

The curvaceous mech approached Optimus and looked him over, his talons grasping the Prime’s jaw, then down his body. “That brute certainly wasn't shy about throwing you over his shoulder and pulling you into his berth. You must have done something terribly saucy to get his attention. Wouldn't stop telling Lugnut to set up a plan for your ceremony.”

“Excuse me,” Optimus managed to get in, “But why was I taken?”

The scarlet mech shuttered his optics, as if the question were absurd. “To be Lord Megatron’s bonded, of course.”

Optimus halted. That couldn't be right. “I don't- I… My name is Optimus Prime,” he said, attempting to settle them back a few paces. “And you are?

“Knock Out. It's a pleasure. I'm the tribe’s healer.” Knock Out stared at the hand Optimus held out, his talons at his chin. “Do you just offer your hand to anyone?”

“I'm not sure what you mean. Why have I been taken to become Megatron of Tarn’s bonded? I am a religious leader in the city of Iacon, and I urged the council to amend with the tribesmech of The Wastes.”

“Yes, well, I… really don't particularly care. But I think Lord Megatron will want to speak to you himself, when you are able. Now, any more questions?” Knock Out looked bored, if anything.

"How do you know Neocybex?” Optimus asked, more out of curiosity. From what he'd gathered the tribesmech didn't or wouldn't speak the common language of populated cities.

“That would be because it's my native tongue.” Knock Out waved off the question as though it were a nuisance. “I'm from Nyon, originally. Though that was quite a long time ago. It's been a klik since I've seen the racetracks.”

“So you were kidnapped as well?”

“Oh, possibly. It's all very muddled. Breakdown swept me off my pedes, quite literally and took me under his roof. It was one of the most romantic experiences I've ever had. It's ancient history, by now. I get along much better with the tribesfolk, barbaric though they are. To my horror they never detail themselves. Only for great occasions or special ceremonies do they even wax. Let me tell you, my finish suffered for quite a while before I absolutely demanded that grooming be a part of the self care and personal hygiene the warriors perform.”

Optimus grimaced as Knock Out derailed the conversation to speak about detailing once more. He swept his hand, as it wiping away the words. What was often immediately obeyed by his subjects was ignored by Knock Out. He had no authority here. “Doctor,” he said, stressing his tone, “Please. I don't understand why I have been taken. Megatron of Tarn is… to bond to me, you say? But why? Why was I chosen?”

“He'll want to tell you himself.” Knock Out pointed to his wrist then. “Medical port.”

As Optimus complied and the scarlet medic plugged in to do his diagnostics he said, “It will be nice to have another automobile among these flight frames. No one has any appreciation for the flare of the racetrack. Of course, you're a convoy aren't you? Not quite the racing type.”

Optimus tuned out Knock Out's tsks and instead analyzed his situation. From the information it didn't seem he was in immediate danger, more than he had to find some way to communicate with the tribesmech chieftain that he had to be returned to Iacon.

“You said they're all fliers?” he asked, curious now. He had to learn everything about his environment if he hoped to escape it. “But they arrived to Iacon on zap-horses.”

“They're secretive, these ones,” Knock Out hummed. He tugged his jacks from Optimus’s medical port and rolled up his cords with practiced ease. He was already looking through the results on his HUD, rather pleased with the results. He made a noise of delight. “You have a gestation tank!”

“What is that?" Optimus said, now wary. Gestation sounded... organic. 

"Oh, Primus, don't tell me you never got the talk." Knock Out grimaced and then held two fingers up. "When two mecha love one another very much they decide to do something called interface-"

Optimus flushed and waved his hands to stop the medic. "That is enough. So with a gestation tank, interfacing leads to...?"

"Sparklings of course!"

Optimus looked horrified.

“Those are a precious thing in flight frames. I have one of course, but I wouldn't go boasting about it. Someone might get jealous. Lord Megatron will enjoy knowing you can get sparked up, however.”

“I'm celibate.” Optimus was fighting a blush. He tried not to react to Knock Out's crude words, but it was… alarming. “Why are they precious among flight frames?”

“Flight frames are warframes,” Knock Out said, closing up his files and crossing his arms across his chest. “Warframes tend not to do the whole, settling down and sparking bits thing. Seekers tend to have gestation tanks, but those lot are high strung enough without being nest crazed.

“They also have no access to Vector Sigma,” Knock Out continued. “They rely on carrying bitlets to create their future. Every mech in this tribe, besides myself mind you, I'm a proper spark, was conceived in the frame of another.”

Optimus took the information with a grave look. This was more complicated than he feared. “Please. I would like to speak with Megatron of Tarn.”

“Alright, alright. Enough of my gorgeous face, I suppose.” Knock Out huffed and waved off the insult, before he pointed to the energon jellies on the side table. “You should refuel. It may taste odd to you, but it's merely standard energon in condensed form. I adjusted it for your tank size and efficiency.”

That was enough for Knock Out. He left Optimus alone, staring at the fuel beside him. He didn't touch it.

Instead Optimus busied himself with peeking around. He didn't dare try to leave the dwelling, though he had a feeling if he did then it would make quite a commotion, and instead tried to familiarize himself.

Halfway through digging into a trunk full of mesh cloths and dainty looking glassware, a clawed servo was laid on his shoulder. Optimus tended and glanced up over it, making eye contact with his captor.

He didn't move. He was still as a petrorabbit before a predator. Optimus felt as if he were a glitchmouse staring down a pneuma-lion, and slowly, he rose to his feet to meet the mech’s gaze. Megatron was taller than him still, but he noticed they were the same size class, and that counted for something.

“Megatron of Tarn,” Optimus said, starting with a curt greeting.

For some reason, Megatron found that amusing because he barked out a laugh, nodded, and then pointed at Optimus. “Optimus Prime,” he said, very slowly, like Optimus didn't know his own designation. He made a face then, looking rather disgruntled. He tapped his chest, where his purple spark glowed behind its chamber case and then tapped Optimus’s windshield. “Bond.”

Before Optimus could deny the tribesmech, Megatron shifted and sunk down to one knee, his claws grasping for Optimus’s hand. He held him gently, with great care and delicacy that Optimus was surprised by, and then leaned in to kiss the back of his knuckles. When he looked up his optics twinkled, and a smirk betrayed the existence of the sharpened fangs behind his lips.

Instinctively, Optimus yanked his hand back. The force of his gesture left a look of shock, and then anger on Megatron’s face. He rose back to his feet and said something harsh in his guttural language.

Optimus stood his ground, fists clenched at his sides. Megatron repeated the same words, louder this time, and flared his thick armor, looming over Optimus.

The Prime didn't allow the chieftain to intimidate him. He flared his own plating, though it was a foreign feeling, and stood straighter, taller. “You do not scare me,” he said, his voice firm and unyielding.

Megatron barked again, sneering.

Optimus hardened his gaze and leaned forward, invading the chieftain’s space. “I am not afraid of you.”

Whether Megatron could understand him or not, the tribesmech scowled… and stepped back. His chassis rumbled with displeasure, but he motioned to the berth with one servo. The intent was clear.

And Optimus refused. “No.”

Megatron growled, and motioned once more, rather insistent.

“No.” Optimus spread his feet wide and rolled his shoulders back, taking a defensive stance. If he was going to be ravished by some barbarian then he was certainly going to fight.

Megatron snatched his wrist and pulled him off balance despite his wide stance, and tossed him to the berth like he weighed nothing. Optimus pulled his knees up, rolling to his side to defend himself… only to find Megatron sat at the edge of the berth, the forgotten cube of energon jellies in his hand.

Optimus was slow to sit up, wary that it may be a trick to catch him off guard, but held his palm out to be handed a jelly.

Megatron shook his helm, and then motioned with his other servo for Optimus to come closer. He was hesitant to comply, but curiosity got the better of him. He was confident in his ability to fight Megatron off should he try anything inappropriate, and those two jellies he had consumed earlier barely filled his tank.

Once he was close enough, Megatron surprised him by offering the jelly directly to his intake. Optimus was slow to open his mouth, but accepted it. Jelly after jelly was fed to him, and Optimus relaxed as his fuel gauge rose higher. He leaned into the hand at his back, flicked his glossa over a wayward claw. It reminded him of his youth with friends, all sharing each other's different flavored energon as younglings.

The innocent illusion was crushed as Megatron fed himself a jelly, and then pressed their lips together.

Caught off guard, Optimus gasped.

Megatron took advantage, pressing the jelly into Optimus’s mouth and pressing with hunger and aggression into the kiss.

Optimus found himself swept up in the contact, Megatron's claws groping at his back as he was laid down, the firm warframe pressing against him.

Optimus kicked Megatron off, rolling off the side of the berth to defend himself, defiance and anger rolling out of his EM field. He wouldn't be taken like some piece of scrap metal. “If you're going to rape me then you will have to get better at surprising me.”

Megatron sneered, and seemed to flinch away from Optimus’s words. “Rape?” he parroted, his optics narrowing and his frame hunched on the berth. He reminded Optimus of a nitrotiger on the prowl. “No. Optimus Prime, I, bond.”

Before he could respond, Megatron rolled off the berth and stomped towards the exit. He left Optimus standing there, confused and unsure, without a second thought.

It wasn't long before raised voices were heard outside the dwelling, and Knock Out was shoved through the flap of the tent.

“And here I was about to enjoy a romantic evening with my mate, and you just had to ruin it, you brute,” Knock Out snapped at Megatron, though Optimus wondered why he spoke it in Neocybex.

Knock Out crossed his arms and leered at Optimus. “You. Why couldn't you just frag him and bare your sparks to each other like good newlyweds instead of making me play translator.”

“I'm not going to interface with him,” Optimus said, his tone firm.

Megatron’s voice rose, and Knock Out groaned, but then translated, “He says you offended his honor. By accusing him of raping you.”

“Then he should not seek to do it,” Optimus shot back, just as quickly as Megatron was rousing. “I will not interface with him. As a Prime I am celibate. I have a duty to Primus.”

Knock Out translated as Megatron spoke, though the Prime had a feeling that the medic was only paraphrasing. And leaving out the less than polite words. “He says now you have a duty to your bonded.”

“We have not bonded yet,” Optimus snapped, his plating unfolding and his audial fins snapping up to attention. He tried to make himself appear larger, though the notion was difficult for him. He always outclassed the mecha of the city in size. He'd never had to try to look bigger.

“You offered him your hand,” Knock Out said, grimacing at the words being hurled behind him. “Traditionally, that is how tribal mecha ask to bond.”

"And… he did not think it to be a miscommunication?”

As Knock Out translated Megatron only seemed to grow angrier. The medic groaned and rubbed at his temple. “He says he assumed you would have researched the tribes’ customs, given that you city mecha think so highly of yourselves as educated individuals.”

Optimus dismissed his initial reaction of anger, no matter how much he would have loved to point out they had no way of knowing how the tribal mecha acted or of their customs, as they had rarely shared information. Instead he vented deep, and said, “Then how are we to rectify this?”

Megatron was calmer then, his ire dying down with Optimus’s collective cool. Knock Out translated quicker, with less complaining now that it was more civil.

“It would bring shame to his reputation if he was to turn you loose. The tribe would assume him unworthy of you, both by tradition and because of your status. If their chieftain, someone they support and trust the strength and charisma of, is unable to woo someone he has begun courting then they would lose faith in his ability to lead.”

“So his ability to coerce me into bonding is how they judge his character?”

Perhaps the comment was too snide. Knock Out didn't even translate it. Megatron seemed to understand at least the emotion behind his jab. Optimus attempted to reel back their conversation to his favor. “I cannot be bonded. My duty to Primus outweighs his reputation.”

“He says you're no longer bound by city laws.”

Optimus shook his head. “It is not the city's laws. It is the law of Primus.”

Knock Out sighed and rubbed at his optic ridge, looking exhausted from the strain of dealing with the two. “Listen. Wait until Shockwave can give you a translation patch. You need to talk about this with him without anything getting lost in translation. In the meantime, recharge.”

Optimus didn't get a choice. Knock Out spoke to Megatron, who ushered them out. The Prime heard raised voices, but the subtleties of the grinding and growling of the tribal language was lost on him.

He was left to his thoughts, and after a while the lights that filtered through the mesh of the dwelling dwindled and the glow of the energon on the table, and his own biolights, was all Optimus had to illuminate his new berthroom.

He didn't recharge that night.

* * *

At some point when the light of the two suns brightened the dwelling, Optimus sat up in the berth, his processor pinging him about a scheduled defrag that was needed. He ignored it, and instead when to the exit of Megatron’s home. He hadn't yet dared to peek outside it, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. 

Whatever he had been expecting, what greeted him wasn't it. He had expected perhaps vicious animals roaming around, energon painting the metal sands, fires burning hot with heretic dancing and ritualistic ceremonies.

Instead, outside there were sparklings running, grown mecha chattering and roaming, and the only mechanimals Optimus saw was a photovoltaicat lounging in the arms of a walking mecha and a hellhound yipping excitedly after two happily shrieking younglings.

It certainly shifted his perspective. He stepped outside the dwelling, feeling out of place. It was like the archives all over again. While many of the mecha around him were large, he still outclassed them, and he was slowly realizing attention was falling on him.

Heavy pedesteps distracted Optimus from the tribesmecha who were looking to him. When he looked over he saw a heavy warframe, a cannon on one arm and a single, unblinking optic focused on him.

Optimus immediately recognized the mech as an empurata victim and lurched back out of surprise. It didn't stop the mech from grasping his arm and giving a hard shove for Optimus to be forced back into Megatron’s home.

"Your presence among the tribe is disruptive, and dishonorable to Lord Megatron without him to accompany you.” The mech held tight to Optimus’s wrist, and dug a claw into his wrist port to pop it open.

Optimus wasn't given a choice as the purple mech unspooled his interface plugs and snapped one into Optimus’s port. He yelped as the snap of electrical charge forced him to realize some strange mech had just plugged into him. “Excuse me!”

“Your shame about hardline interfacing is illogical.” The mech was already uploading data to Optimus’s queue. “I am uploading a base code for our language. You will have it deciphered in a minimum of two joors. Lord Megatron will be here to communicate with you in three.”

Optimus shied away when the data cable was finally pulled out. There was a rush of information that he set to be decoded at the back of his processor, focusing instead on the purple mech before him. "Who are you?”

“My designation is Shockwave.” The mech curled his cords back into his hardline array, snapping the panel shut and turning to leave. Before Optimus managed to ask,

"I apologize for being crass, but how did you come to suffer Empurata if you are a tribesmech?”

Shockwave’s single optic rolled to focus on Optimus. His finial spines twitched like little sensors. “I was a senator.”

Shock trickled down Optimus’s spinal strut. He raised a palm to his open intake, attempting to process this information. “Senator Shockwave? You- I do believe I heard of your story in the news.”

"Then you will understand that for an empurata victim they may either make due with the slums or they will escape to the Badlands and survive among the tribes.” Shockwave rotated his optic and zoomed in on Optimus with a rumble. “You are naive for a Prime.”

Optimus didn't want to admit he had only been Prime for a short time. He shook his head and went over the data Shockwave had sent him, trying to make heads and tails out of the language. While he was sifting through it he was left alone, to get into the bulk of the language.

After three joors, Optimus had a majority of the language memorized, and set the unpacking of the file to the back of his processor where it would be opened slower. It was then that Megatron returned.

“Shockwave tells me you should be able to understand by now.”

Optimus thought the words were still too rough, but he nodded along. He didn't trust himself with the language yet.

“I had a vision.” Megatron approached him, and reached out slow. He held Optimus’s hand as he slowly dropped to one knee. He looked upon Optimus with his smoldering red optics, his body pulsing with power and energy. Optimus wondered how a mech who looked so much like death could have so much life in him. “I went to commune with the Thirteen and the Ends. When I walked through the Sea of Rust to kneel before Old Kaon, I came across the blood of Unicron deep in the old mines. Starving, I steeped it into energon, and upon drinking it the Unmaker came to me.”

Optimus tensed. “You… you communed with Unicron? You have shouldered the evil of this world?”

Megatron shook his head. “The Unmaker is an End, just as the Maker is. But the Unmaker spoke to me and showed me your city, and in it… you. He showed me the horrors that would befall you if I allowed you to stay within the city. “And when I saw you at the gates, it was as if I was struck by the stars themselves. You far surpass the beauty Unicron said you would have.” Megatron leaned in to kiss Optimus’s hand. His optics twinkled, a wry smirk worming onto his features. “Even if the Unmaker hadn't told me of you, then I would have been compelled to take you on my own. When you offered your hand to me I knew it was destined.”

“There's been some miscommunication,” Optimus insisted, though he let Megatron kiss his palm. “I was offering comradery. In the city we offer our hands to- to introduce ourselves.”

“And you offered your hand to me, which means you are accepting of my courting,” Megatron rose to his feet, using his hold on Optimus’s hand to pull his frame closer. “You will build fine, strong sparklings in this frame. I approve.”

“Excuse me?” Optimus shoved back, pushing away from Megatron. “You're not going to spark me. I'm not going to interface with you.”

“I have to lay claim to you before you can be allowed outside of my tent,” Megatron rumbled, motioning to their surroundings. “You are ripe for the taking, so long as no one has bonded you. I have to be the one to lay destruction to your seals.”

“Why?”

Megatron halted, blinking, as if he wasn't sure the reason why himself. “Because… because anyone would be happy to steal you from me. If you haven't been claimed then someone else may try to woo you.”

“And you think that I would accept them?” Optimus shifted away from Megatron, a hand over his spark. “My spark belongs to Primus. I cannot let anyone have me.”

"I understand. You have the Thirteen in your spark, yes?” Megatron approached and motioned to Optimus’s windshield. “The children of the Ends? The original knights of the Maker?”

"The original primes,” Optimus said as he realized what Megatron meant. “I… I have the memories of them, yes.”

“You have their wisdom.” Megatron nodded, his fangs gleaming. “Yes, that is exactly what was said. And I have the Unmaker in my lines. Have drunk the blood of Unicron. I am the prophet of the second End. You are the prophet of the first. We were meant to come together.”

“This is too much for me all at once,” Optimus murmured, pressing his palms against Megatron’s chest. “Please explain, what are the ends?”

"Primus is but one end of creation,” Megatron rumbled, his hand pushing against Optimus’s chest plates. “The first End. Unicron is the second. A god of life and a god of death.”

“That is very… open ended.” Optimus backed away, to try to make sense of it. “But Unicron is- is evil.”

"The Unmaker is cruel,” Megatron said. “But Primus is not always kind in turn. There is more than only good and bad. The gods are not perfect. They work with one another to benefit us. Our benefit does not always come from one place.”

“I don't understand,” Optimus admitted.

Megatron shook his helm. “We have twins here. Split sparks.” Megatron held his fists to his spark, then slowly separated them. One spark, in two. “In the city they were condemned. They were treated as less than another, as if they were each only half a mech. And then their caretaker guttered, and they ran. They ran into the Badlands, until I found them and made them warriors. Primus gave them life, but an act of death brought them to their true home. Dreadwing and Skyquake are worth an army on their own.”

“I think I see what you mean.” Optimus nodded along. “For me, Primus is all of these things, and for you they are both Primus and Unicron.”

"The Thirteen as well. We look to them for guidance.” Megatron nodded along with his own words. “And when I saw you, I knew that I had to have you.”

Optimus grimaced, and shifted away. “You cannot have my spark.”

"You have mine.”

It was a bold statement to make. Optimus had interfaced with many as Orion Pax, but he had never bared his spark. His seal had stayed intact, too afraid to even break it to touch his spark himself.

“Do you have no experience?” Megatron huffed, cocking his helm. “I've heard city mecha are prudish about interfacing. Perhaps you've never experienced it.”

A deep flush came over Optimus. “Excuse me! That is not true, and even if it weren't then it wouldn't help you get under my plating any faster. I'm not a sealed virgin.” He was, technically, but only because the Matrix had remade all his factory seals.

"There is no shame.” Megatron crossed his arms. “I've had many tell me I am a generous lover, and that my girth is to be admired.”

That didn't bring Optimus any nearer to fragging the chieftain. He stepped away and crossed his arms. “No. I won't forsake my title.”

A scowl pressed across the chieftain’s face. “But I took you. You are mine, to be bonded, I caught you fairly. And I cannot let you roam free until we consummate our bonding.”

Optimus halted. The voice of his instructor for interrogation training came to him, reminding him of the too painful truth that, as a public and religious figurehead, he had become a target.

“ _Prime_ ,” Jazz had said, _“You do whatever the bastards who got you want. They tell you to jump? Jump. You do everything your Primely aft can think to obey, because hostages who obey more are watched less, and the less watched you are the more likely you are to escape. Primus ain't gonna care if you gotta scrape the bottom of the barrel of morality, so long as your spark comes out of it alive.”_

Obey. That was what he had been taught should he be taken hostage or kidnapped. Do as his captors wanted, and then he would be given freedom through their own assuredness that he had been tamed.

"What… what do you want of me?” he whispered, spark pulsing with anxiety. What if Megatron defiled him and then refused to let him see the sun again? Megatron had everything in this exchange. He could only lay back and give what was wanted of him if he dared to see his home again.

As Megatron stepped closer once more he was aware of the size difference between them. So slight compared to others he knew, and yet it was like Megatron were leagues above him.

“A kiss?” It was spoken so softly Optimus thought maybe he wouldn't have minded anyway. He was slow to lean in ever so slightly, and let Megatron fill in the rest. Megatron cupped his cheek and brushed their noses, their dermas barely touching. Optimus could feel the hot vents from Megatron’s fans. He shuddered. Already the tribesmech was hot and ready, and Optimus was left only to obey. He had no choice if he wanted to get out.

Megatron had said it himself. In order to be allowed outside, Prime had to consummate a bonding. He could only hope he did it without letting Megatron into his spark.

Megatron kissed him firmly then. It was still gentle, nothing but lips together, and the slight nibble of fangs at his bottom lip plate.

Optimus pulled away, tilting his head forward to stop Megatron’s next kiss by bumping their helms. The tribesmech took it as encouragement, leaning in with furious hunger and groping hands. Optimus keened against the kiss, his audial fins folding back in his anxiety.

“Megatron,” he whispered, trying to pull himself back into control. The other mech only growled and kisses him again, this time sweeping him up into his arms. He carried Optimus to the berth, tossing him onto the mesh blankets and descending upon him. “Wait!”

Growling, Megatron dug his claws into Optimus's hips, but stopped. “Optimus Prime. Yes?”

“Please, I…” Jazz’s words kept echoing in his audials. Optimus wilted. “I've been reformatted. My factory seals were remade.”

He only hoped that knowledge would stall Megatron, or at least convince him to be gentle.

Megatron perked up at the knowledge, instead of being put off. “It is an honor to lay waste to your seals. I've had many come to me to do so, I have experience. It will be painless.”

The way Megatron said “lay waste,” as if he would be ruthless and destructive didn't give Optimus any optimism. A flush came over his cheeks, and he said, “Are you some kind of defiler of virgins?”

Megatron laughed again. He shook his helm, stroking Optimus’s hip. “Breaking seals is an honor. When the young come of age they may choose to have any mech of their choice to pop their seals, so they may go to their lovers ready to accept them.”

Optimus wriggled away from the claws that were too close to his modesty panel for comfort. “They don't have their lovers do it? That's- that's so… intimate.”

Megatron smirked. “No. It is more like… a ceremony? They seek out older, more experienced mecha to take their seals. And there is often not any interfacing. We use our claws.” Megatron rubbed his thumb and foreclaw together. “I am chosen by many because of my status as chieftain, and I have only gotten better with experience. I was taught by the best.”

Megatron was proud, puffing his chest up and nodding with his words. Optimus found it nearly pompous. He didn't know what to think about how Megatron boasted of breaking in virgins.

“If you lay back it will not be painful. Relax, my bonded.” Megatron slid a hand along the expanse of Optimus’s cool thigh, clawtip catching beneath his interface panel. “I will pop your seals and we can get to the fun part.”

Optimus shivered, his armor clattering as he twisted on his side, but slowly pushed his legs apart. He retracted his panel, only to cover his array with one hand. “It's- it's not customary someone I just met would see my array.”

Megatron was gentle as he curled a servo around Optimus’s hand, slow to pull it away. “Your spike is lovely,” he insisted, “And your valve is exquisite. It will be an honor to spike you.”

“Too much,” Optimus murmured, though a faint shiver pulsed through him as Megatron brushed his anterior node, and glossed over the base of his soft spike.

“Spike seal first.” Megatron reached for the table beside the berth, and pulled out a small container, but set it on the table instead of opening it. Megatron held the limp spike in his palm, his talons sliding along the clear, rubbery film that restricted flow to Optimus’s spike. He was slow to peel it up, just until he could grip it and tug it away from the protoflesh beneath it.

Optimus’s gasped at the cool air that settled around his newly freed spike. When he'd interfaced as Orion Pax he hadn't peeled away the rubber seal, rather he'd let the natural lubricants of his partner slowly but surely dissolve it. This was a different sensation, strange and with a subtle pull, like his protoform was rising up, trying to stay connected to the seal. It was, as Megatron said, painless.

Then, Megatron went back to the container he'd taken from his table. He popped open the top and dipped two claws in, and then applied it to Optimus’s spike. He used his hands to rub his unsealed spike, spreading a solvent over him. It had Optimus trembling, turning away to avoid Megatron’s gaze.

“This ointment will keep you from becoming sore, later,” he said, an earnest tone as he rubbed the thick solvent over Optimus’s spike. The Prime couldn't help but squirm, his fans coming online much to his horror.

“No shame,” Megatron insisted, “I would be worried if it did not feel good in some way. Now your valve seal.” Megatron held up his fingers and wiggled his claws. “I will pull the ring out with my claws. You may feel a pinch.”

It wasn't like when he had to go to the sanctioned medics and they told him it would be just a pinch before a burning pain soaked his sensor net. Megatron’s claw was slick from the ointment and very carefully eased one claw along the line of Optimus’s valve rim. He felt something akin to a pinprick, and tried to relax as the movement in his valve shifted his focus. He felt the same pricks of not quite pain, and grunted as Megatron then speared his claw through the little mesh seal, hooked his finger, and tugged.

The little metal ring popped free with ease, and Optimus was astonished that removing his seal could be so easy. When he'd first been penetrated as Orion, he'd bled and been sore for days after his first interface, and his medic had told him he was lucky that the outer ring of his seal hadn't lodged up further inside his valve.

Megatron held up the little metal ring, his claw poking through metal mesh, for Optimus to see. “Painless?”

“Surprisingly.” Optimus pushed his thighs together, a hand coming over his array to keep whatever dignity he had left. “And now what?”

“Now we consummate our bond.”

Megatron let the seal clatter off the side of the berth and pushed his body over the Prime’s. He pressed one leg between Optimus’s, his knee nestled against the Prime’s array. “Open for me, my precious little Prime, give yourself to me.”

Optimus felt filthy as he turned his helm away, letting his legs splay for the chieftain. He didn't want to, he felt queasy and like he may purge his tanks at any moment. What choice did he have? His only other option was refuse and never be let out of Megatron’s tent again. He had to go through with this. The temple would understand; he was the victim here.

Megatron’s panel slid open as he rutted down against the Prime, his claw stroking along Optimus’s sides. He leaned down to kiss along his neck cables, suckling and nipping to try and rev the other up. “Come now, I will make it good for you. Don't be so callous.”

Optimus might have to interface with the tribesmech out of necessity, but he certainly didn't have to enjoy it. He pursed his lips in a straight line, awkwardly pushing his hips down in a poor attempt to make it look like he was initiating contact. It seemed to work well enough for Megatron, because the next thing Optimus knew the chieftain had one of his legs pushed up, his pressurized spike sliding between the primary lips of his valve.

The lewd, slick noises had Optimus’s cheeks flushed a delicate blue, his hands coming up to cover his faceplates. He stared between his legs as Megatron penetrated him, slow and steady. When he had the head in, he stopped and withdrew just enough to push back in until he speared Optimus on just a little more of his shaft.

Optimus had expected to just be impaled in one fell swoop. Instead, Megatron opened him up slow, with gentle thrusts and a drawn out initial penetration, until he could finally seat himself to the hilt. As he stared down, wondering exactly how he had managed to envelop the chieftain completely, because Primus he felt so full, he couldn't help but feel accomplished that at least it wasn't painful. Megatron had done a wonderful job of breaking his seals.

Optimus clung to the chieftain, trying to gain himself time by immobilizing Megatron. He shuddered, grateful that the tribesmech took it as an act of seeking comfort. He tried not to think about how Megatron's crooning and stroking did help soothe him.

The slow, languid thrusts were not at all what Optimus had been expecting. Megatron was making slow love to him, kissing along his jaw and rumbling pleasantly against his neck. Every piece of his frame moved with purpose and poise, and Optimus found he couldn't help himself drawing a charge from it.

It was shameful, and yet it felt so good. Optimus buried his face into Megatron's neck as he clutched at his shoulder spurrs, legs wrapped tight around his waist. He was humiliated, inside and out. Megatron had defiled him, cost him his purity, and he couldn't express it without ruining the pleasure Megatron was wracking his body with.

Megatron reached between them, taking Optimus’s spike into his hand and stroking, rough and assured. It had the Prime gasping and writhing beneath him. “Cum for me, just like this. I want to see you overload.” Optimus couldn't deny the chieftain. He overloaded with a shaky cry, transfluid spilling into Megatron’s grip. The stimulation was painful after that, though Megatron didn't let up. He stroked him through his overload, thrust against his ceiling node without mercy, and it left Optimus coming undone beneath him.

Megatron came only after Optimus had been thoroughly debauched. He rumbled with satisfaction, transfluid seeping out around his spike as he slowly, agonizingly so, removed himself from Optimus. He let himself rest his weight on top of Optimus, rumbling as he relaxed.

Optimus wiggled beneath Megatron's weight, groaning as he was trapped. He was humiliated, and as he curled up beneath Megatron he realized that it was the best interface he'd ever experienced.

“My beautiful Prime,” Megatron growled, a claw stroking up Optimus’s neck. He purred against the cables there, a rumble of pleasure. “A gift from the Unmaker. If there ever was a destined fate then I know this is it.”

Flattery didn't make Optimus feel any less guilty. He pushed against Megatron’s chest, managing to shift beneath him until he was to the side. “This isn't where I belong.”

“Perhaps. But for now, I am where I belong. Beside you.” Megatron curled against Optimus’s back, his nasal ridge pressing against the Prime’s spinal strut.

“Soon you will be where you need to be, my Prime.”

“Where I need to be is back in Iacon, with my people.”

Megatron clicked his glossa and shook his helm, but merely swung an arm around Optimus’s waist. He shuttered his optics with a purr, and nestled his face into the warm hollow between Optimus’s shoulder plates. It was clear Optimus wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

“That no good, used up, washed out flunky is going to pay for this,” Sentinel Magnus snarled under his vents, stomping around behind the doors of the church. He paced; back and forth, a terrible screech from the scuffs his wide pedes. “Well?” he snapped at the two mechs before him. “High Councilor, Surgeon General? What've you got to give me?”

"You're going so fast you'll end up taking liftoff.” Ratchet tapped his pedes rather impatiently from where he sat. “And keep your trap shut about our Lord Prime. You think just because you knew him from your youngling vorns you can say whatever you like. Have some respect for your religious leader.”

"Me and him are equal rank,” Sentinel snapped right back. “Magnus and Prime just hold different reigns of power.”

“Don't get carried away, kid,” Ratchet sniped, “You're acting Magnus, and don't forget it.”

"And I suppose now I'm acting Prime.”

Alpha Trion rattled his vents to gain Sentinel’s attention. “Sentinel, don't you think it prudent to answer the public’s questions? Our Lord Prime has been publicly kidnapped, we have to make a statement.”

"Worse, you have to talk about what you're going to do to lead the church,” Ratchet chuffed. “In the absence of a Prime, if he is able, the Magnus must serve the essential needs of the church.”

“You care an awful lot about it. Never knew you were so devout, Doctor,” Sentinel sneered. He kept his pacing, his rapid steps soon chipping the floor of its elegant paint.

“The civil leader is the only other rank that can rival the Prime’s and still be in touch with the population,” Alpha Trion chided, a hand coming to rest on Sentinel’s shoulder plating. “Our Lord Prime is very popular, you must be their morale support. One of the best ways is through the church.”

“And how am I going to give a public statement about that irresponsible drop out’s mistake? He shouldn't have been playing nice with those- those savages.”

“Out Lord Prime wants to encourage good relations with the barbarians in order to stop bloodshed. He wants skirmishes between us and the wasteland mecha to cease.” Alpha Trion stroked his synthetics thoughtfully. “I don't recommend condemning our Lord Prime publicly or blaming him for his kidnapping. As I said, he is very popular among the public. He is in touch with them, he listens to them, treats them equal despite rank. The lower classes especially adore him for his service.”

“Fine. Surgeon General, what are his odds?” Sentinel was calming down, his steaming hydraulics coming to a steady whirr. “The public needs to know what the chances are Prime won't be back in one piece.”

"From what Drift tells us, kidnapped mecha are executed, but that is only if they have committed any crimes against their laws, like murder of a tribe member. He said the other reason, and most likely for Optimus, they are taken as…” Ratchet vented heavily. “Well, what we translated it to was ‘berth warmer,’ essentially.”

“I recommend we don't inform the public of that part.”

Sentinel’s playing flared as he was given the information. A disgusted look came over his features. No matter his feelings and relationship with Optimus, he would never wish being some savage’s berth slave on anyone. “Right. I'll inform the public.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus learns about his new environment.

Sentinel was calm and collected behind the podium of the grand church hall where he was making his public statement about Optimus Prime’s kidnapping. He leaned into the microphone with a steady tone. He looked troubled, but not emotional, giving them the idea he was disturbed, but able to fill out his duties as Magnus.

“We are publicly confirming Optimus Prime’s kidnapping. One orn ago, he was acting as a religious diplomat for public relations between us and the tribal mecha of the wastelands, and as he was shaking hands with the tribal chieftain he was caught off guard and dragged away with their posse. No one was hurt, the only loss being Optimus Prime. We sent an immediate scouting team to follow the tribal mecha, we have not yet heard back. Once we hear back we will begin planning retrieval. Until then, I will take over essential duties of the church. We must inform the public there  _ is _ a chance Optimus Prime may be lost. If you see anything relating to the Lord Prime you will contact your local enforcers.” Sentinel paused for an appropriate amount of time for them to react to the whirlwind of information. “I'll take questions now. Yes, ma’am?”

“Sentinel Magnus, why was our Lord Prime acting as a diplomat if his intentions were public relations with the barbarians?” one reported demanded. “Shouldn't you be the one to assign diplomatic dignitaries?”

“He made the case personally, saying that the church should be the ones to reach out. He told us it would be mission work on the church’s end.” Sentinel pointed to another reporter, “Yes, your question.”

“Are you planning any military action at this time?”

“At the moment, we can only wait. We do not wish to start a war if the Lord Prime is being held captive and may come to harm from our actions.”

“Is our Lord Prime in any danger? Can we recover him?”

“We believe there is danger present, however we believe Optimus Prime to be a minimal risk of death. All recovery will depend on the scouting team upon their return.” Sentinel was getting a headache from all the blame shifting. He just needed to answer a few more questions of-

“What of the Matrix of Leadership? What if it falls into the hands of the barbarians?”

Never mind, he was already done. His fuel pressure was rising so quickly he feared he may burst a line. “Only mecha pure of faith and spirit are viable to hold the Matrix of Leadership within their frames. Furthermore, the Matrix is one with Optimus Prime’s spark. To rend one from the other would mean the Lord Prime’s spark extinguishing. I'm afraid I can answer no further questions.”

With that, Sentinel turned and declined any further comments. 

The civil leader of Cybertron returned to the Primal Office alone, seating himself in the chair. “Good for nothing Library Prime goes and gets himself kidnapped… Now I have two jobs to do.”

* * *

Optimus didn't recharge.

At some point Megatron had woken from his defragmentation cycle and had pressed pleasant little kisses along Optimus’s shoulder before he rolled off the berth. Optimus’s chronometer read two joor before he finally sat up. 

Megatron had left him alone, his lower body sore, and the opposite side of the berth cold. He hated to say it, but it was lonely to wake up without anyone there.

Optimus rose to his pedes and squirmed in discomfort as dried transfluid flaked from his inner thighs. If he were to leave with the shame of his defiled frame leaking down his legs it would leave him humiliated. 

Optimus settled for rubbing the transfluid off in flakes. Primitive and no replacement for a real wash, but it would have to do. 

It had been two orn since he'd recharged, and his HUD was pinging him with reminders of his required defragmentation cycles being skipped. Part of him was still alert, but a growing part was becoming heavy, difficult to maneuver. He was losing tact and grace with every moment as his systems slowed from use. 

It made coming to a decision of his next actions difficult. Should he leave Megatron’s dwelling? Should he stay? Supposedly he had consummated some amount of bonding, and thus he should be allowed out. He only hoped nothing that was required of him needed deep thought. 

One step out of the tent and Optimus… wasn't paid any attention at all. 

Tribal mecha went about their way. He saw one mechling tugging a zap horse along, several mecha chattering with tools or goods in their hands. Optimus took notice of one mech with a sparkling attached to their chest, held in place by a special harness. Rows of tents and smaller dwellings littered the land with little order, and a rising dune of the metal sands blocked out further landscape. 

Even as Optimus stepped through the loose, meandering mecha, no one spared him more than an acknowledging glance. 

“Finally out of the berth, hm?”

Knock Out stood with one hand on his hip, the other stroking his jaw. Beside him was a massive blue mech who looked less than pleased to be there. Optimus took note of their close proximity and the way Knock Out leaned back into the mech. 

“Megatron left me alone. I assumed since my… duties had been fulfilled that I would be allowed to walk about.” Optimus’s protoform crawled at the thought of calling that disaster of an interface his “duties.”

“Oh, good. You came to your senses. How was the ‘face? The rumors of Lord Megatron’s prowess in the berth is widely spread. You must be sore. I can give you something for that.” Knock Out was moving so quickly it made Optimus’s head spin. “Oh, and where are my manners. Breakdown! Stop brooding and introduce yourself!”

A well timed, playful smack to his arm jolted the blue mech into action. He grunted and straightened his posture, his eyes lighting up as if he'd been lost in thought. “Oh, uh, ‘m Breakdown. Knock Out's my mate. I'm one of Megatron’s prize hunters. Knock Out’s the tribe healer.”

The way Breakdown introduced both himself and Knock Out struck Optimus as odd. He tried not to dwell on it, instead nodding along. “And… where are we?”

“The tribe’s temporary camp.” Knock Out clicked his glossa and placed a hand on Optimus’s arm, leading him along between the tents. “We camped here until Lord Megatron was able to properly claim you.”

The words had Optimus’s tank rolling.  _ Properly claim him. _ He should have known it would be public knowledge. 

“Of course now that you two are properly attached we will be able to pack up and head back to New Kaon.” Instead of stepping away from his mate, Knock Out reached back and dragged Breakdown forward with him. He patted Optimus’s chest, a sly, wily smile coming over him. “I'll assist you in getting to know the camp.”

Optimus watched as Knock Out looked back to Breakdown, hands on his hips as if he were waiting for something. His delicate pede rapped impatiently, bringing Breakdown out of his thoughts once more. 

“Hunh? Oh, yeah, uh, go ahead. I'll just go find something to pack.” Breakdown then wandered off, as if Knock Out had just given him permission. Optimus was confused, but didn't ask. 

Without Breakdown lingering, Knock Out motioned for Optimus to follow. There was a certain sway to his hips that looked as if he ached to entice any who paid him a glance, a slyness in his coy smiles that made Optimus wary. 

“Over this way is where we keep the zap horses and the livestock.” Knock Out lead Optimus towards the edge of camp. Where Knock Out motioned there were several zap horses all tied to stakes, grazing among the alloy grass. Beside them were several iron bulls, mooing and braying at a mech who was waving his arms wildly at them.

“Skywarp! You're going to get rushed again,” Knock Out called, startling Optimus with his raised voice. 

Distracted, the mech that Optimus could now see was a flier turned and was promptly knocked sideways by a particularly irate bull. The flier squawked, clinging to the iron bull’s left horn. It only served to upset the beast even more, braying and thrashing to dislodge the jet. 

Optimus was compelled to intervene. Knock Out held him back with an arm, and one warning, “He needs to learn. You also don't know how to handle the bulls.”

The purple and black flier kicked with one leg, the thruster on his heel propelling him up so he could swing. He righted himself, one fluid motion until he was seated on the back of the bull. The beast let out a loud snort of disapproval and promptly attempted to buck the jet right off. 

“What an imbecile. I'm not fixing you when you crack your helm open!” 

Horrified, Optimus watched as the bull finally bucked Skywarp from his back. Up in the air, there was a distinct  _ pop! _ and Skywarp vanished. 

“Hey, new metal!” Only to reappear right behind Optimus. The jet was slender, and looked… excitable. “You're Megatron's new fling, right? Sorry, chosen one, destined mate, prophecied love at first sight- whatever he's calling you. I’m Skywarp. I handle the iron bulls and the zap horses.”

Optimus jerked back as he twirled, taken by surprise. Skywarp looked different than any city flier he had ever seen. The jet was thin, with reinforced plating and long, dangerous talons at the end of his slim servos. He would have looked harmless if not for the natural weapons at his disposal.

“Optimus Prime,” he said, hesitant to introduce himself. He was about to continue when Knock Out interrupted him, stepping into place at his side. 

“This is Optimus Prime. He is Megatron’s newly exalted mate. Now, where is that loudmouth you call a trine leader?” Knock Out looked less than impressed when Skywarp scratched his helm and shrugged.

“Umm, I think he went to go argue with Megatron. TC is in the command tent doing, uh… that stuff he does.” Skywarp shrugged again. “I gotta get the bulls rounded up, we’re heading out before the orn.”

When Skywarp disappeared with another pop, Optimus turned to Knock Out. “Why did you introduce me? I'm perfectly capable of doing so myself.”

Knock Out pursed his lips. “Of course you wouldn't know. Silly me. For tribal mecha, the higher ranking mech introduces the other. In Lord Megatron’s absence, I am to be your guide and thus I will introduce you. As a new tribesmech, even as Lord Megatron’s mate, you're not exactly at the top of the food chain.”

Something clicked. “So your mate is a higher rank than you?” It unnerved him to have such blatant systems of power in place.

“That's different.” Knock Out waved off the comment. “With mates it has more to do with… protection, I suppose? Breakdown protects me, takes a great deal of pride in it, in fact. So he ‘shields’ me in a way, by introducing me and limiting my initial contact with someone until they can be trusted. Don't be fooled, that brute of a mech is by no means controlling me.”

“What if I introduced myself?” Optimus challenged, wanting to put himself at odds with the power imbalance imposed on him. He never did do well with the caste system, this was no different. 

“Well, with Lord Megatron it would be greatly insulting for his mate to presume himself the protector in the relationship.” Knock Out looked amused by the idea. “How about I take you to Lord Megatron and you can take it up with him, hm?”

“Yes,” Optimus said, squaring his shoulders. “That would be preferred.”

* * *

The command tent was larger than even Megatron’s dwelling, stretching twice as big. Optimus surmised it must be able to hold an entire war council if there was a need for it. It was an intimidating structure, vast and tall enough it towered above all the other tents.

It made it all that much more absurd when a mech the same frametype as Skywarp came shrieking and stomping out of the tent, wings vibrating so fast there was a distinct hum. 

The flier halted, thrusters digging into the metal sand beneath him as he fixed his gaze on Optimus. He sneered, his voice rising to a screech,  _ “You!” _

Optimus jerked back, hand coming to his windshield as if he were asking if the flier meant him. He was fairly certain he had done nothing to inhibit this mech, whoever he was. “Excuse me?”

“No good, disgusting, naive, treacherous, deceitful, spike hopping piece of shiny city shareware waltzing into  _ my _ tribe and mucking up the internal affairs of people you have  _ no business _ seducing!” The flier stomped right up to Optimus, no shame or fear for the larger frame. He jabbed sharp talons in Optimus’s face, wings still vibrating with anger. There were still so many words he was spewing that hadn't been picked up by the translation software; Optimus didn't think he needed them translated. 

The flier lurched as he was yanked back by the scruff bar like an ill behaved sparkling. He was lifted off the ground, coming face to face with Megatron. 

“Starscream,” the chieftain rumbled, “Must I punish you for your behavior towards my intended already? We only talked about it half a breem ago.”

“Set me down! You'll regret this!” the flier shrieked, writhing in Megatron’s grasp. “How dare you! You have disrespected me for the last time! Ramjet will hear of this! You have scammed us for the last time, all you do is take and take and you leave us with the bones of our civilization! I won't stand for it!”

The jet was tossed into the dirt before he could go off on Megatron once more. Starscream recoiled and scrabbled to all fours. Optimus saw something feral in the jet, watching him bare needle-sharp fangs at Megatron, and then promptly transforming and careening into the sky. 

And like that it was over.

“I apologize. Starscream is not usually so… volatile.” Megatron pulled Optimus’s attention back to himself, stepping beside the Prime. He reached out, hand grasping at Optimus’s arm and tugging him closer; just enough to be uncomfortable. “With your arrival I had to make a choice. He and I, we were to be bonded. That couldn't happen if I were to be with my prophesied intended.”

Shocked, Optimus pulled his arm back. “And you-”

“I chose you.”

Optimus shied away from the hand that reached to caress him, leaving Megatron seeking him. He finally gave in, letting the chieftain thumb his cheek and pull him in against his chest. “He was extremely upset.”

“Because he isn't getting what he wants.” Megatron scoffed. He waved off Optimus’s concerns, and instead put an arm around his intended, turning him. He nodded in Knock Out’s direction.  “Thank you, Knock Out. Your services remain needed in the den of healing. Go, attend to the ill.”

“Of course, Lord Megatron.” Knock Out bowed his head and made quick work of scurrying away as he was ordered. 

Optimus wanted to ask Knock Out to stay, to claim that he felt sick and needed the medic with him. Knock Out was already gone and Megatron was already leading him away by the time he had the processor power to say anything. His HUD pinged him again about his necessary defragmentation cycle. 

Megatron lead him arm in arm, his long stride confident and his gaze held straight ahead. Optimus shrank away from the eyes that turned to them. The chieftain paid them no mind, his broad stabilizers leaving hefty prints in the sand. Optimus blanched as he saw they looked more like mechanimal prints than anything else.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, voice hushed. He didn't want the people around him to hear them, and he wasn’t quite sure of that. Optimus felt like an outsider here. Not only did he feel like an outsider, but he didn’t want to become an insider.

“I’m taking you to my stag,” Megatron said, his voice a low rumble to match Optimus’s soft tone. “You will ride with me. I would never let you ride a zap-horse so soon. You'd fall. It is also traditional that new mates ride together.”

Though he was insulted by the insinuation, Optimus sucked back his reaction and expelled any emotion towards the chieftain. He wouldn't get through this angry and irrational. 

Megatron lead him back to the tent where, behind it, Megatron's titanium moose stag was pawing through the metal sands to look for scrubs. The chieftain approached, one hand coming to brush behind the majestic creature’s ears. “This is Thunderhoof. He was gifted to me from the seekers of Vos as a dowry of sorts. When Starscream and I began political dealings Thunderhoof was to… soften my judgement, I suppose.”

Feeling rather wry, Optimus glanced at the beast, and then at Megatron. “It's a shame you'll have to give him back then.”

Megatron snapped his helm to attention, frowning at the comment. “Why would I return him?”

“If you are cutting your political bond with Starscream short, shouldn't you return his dowry?” Optimus squared his shoulders, matching Megatron’s size once more. He looked the chieftain directly and steeled himself. “I mean, if you claim to be so honorable.”

Megatron scowled, before something seemed to light up against his optics. They smoldered, reflecting off the orange, rusty sands as his frowned quirked up into a delicate smile. “Quite the sharp tongue you have. It's been a long while since I've had someone bright, and brave, enough to challenge me.”

Pressing his lip components together, Optimus stood a minute amount straighter. “You don't scare me.”

Megatron leaned in, his shoulders hunched ever so slightly as he met Optimus at eye level. His scarred lips twisted into a sneer, and then a smirk. “Good.”

The chieftain turned then, showing Optimus his back where all the intricate flight deck plating merged and folded neatly together. It frustrated Optimus to see that should he attempt escape he would be hunted down within breems.

“Why do you want a mate who fights?”

Megatron cocked his helm, watching Optimus with narrow optics. He followed every twitching cable, the way Optimus’s vents opened just a little wider when they made eye contact. He was studying him. It unnerved the Prime. 

“Not fight. Challenge.” Megatron motioned a servo between them, his claws brushing his spark chamber, the delicate glow of purple behind the badge emblazoned on his chest. It reminded Optimus of the autobot badge that was crested on his shoulder, though Megatron’s looked different. It had been painted, and beneath it looked as if it had been welded into his protoform instead of being magnetized as was standard in the city. He almost missed how Megatron reached forth, his thumb sweeping over the transformation seam between Optimus’s windshield. 

“You are not a stupid mech, Optimus Prime.” Megatron’s claw traced down that singular seam, then swept up to lift Optimus’s chin. “You have strong beliefs. Morals. I do not want you afraid. I want you alert, aware. I want you to speak to me, to challenge me like no one else will. No one else would be worthy to be my mate.”

“Am I not expected to obey you as the… submissive mate?” The words tasted bitter on his glossa. “Knock Out told me of your customs. I am not even allowed to introduce myself.”

Megatron’s optic ridge lowered, tilting his head once more. Optimus could see him contemplating, mulling over whatever thought he had. To Optimus’s surprise, the chieftain lowered himself to one knee before the Prime. 

“You must have misunderstood. The reason you will be introduced, by myself specifically, is to keep you safe from any mecha who may wish you harm.” Megatron took Optimus’s hand, leaning down to kiss the back of it. “I am your protector, not your  _ master. _ Knock Out may have introduced you, but that is only because you are freshly a part of the tribe. As my mate, you are above anyone else in the tribe. My equal.”

“When will I be treated as such?” Optimus challenged. “Since I've arrived I have only been spoken for, spoken over. I am the only one making sacrifices.”

Megatron seemed to go eerily still. He met Optimus's gaze with a steady, fierce look of his own. “If it is sacrifice you are worried of, there will be many of my own as well. You are leaving the city, but not for a life of hardship. There may be difficulties, yes, but you have come into a title of my mate.”

“I have given up my family and my friends,” Optimus snapped back, his hackles raising. “I left the church. And, on that note, I was  _ taken, _ not  _ relieved _ from these things. The church has been my  _ function _ as a Prime. I cannot give that up so easily.”

“If you would still prefer to perform religious duties then I can introduce you to our religion.” Megatron met Optimus's raised hackles with his own, the steady rev of a heavy engine filling the air. “We have no religious envoy here. The only one who comes close is myself, when I journey each vorn to Old Kaon to commune with the Ends and the Thirteen.”

Optimus wasn't about to give in so easily. However, the prospect of continuing his work as a religious leader had its enticements. He could reach out to a greater number of mecha with religious power, perhaps even reach Iacon if he played his cards right. “Yes,” he said, “I want to be a part of the church.”

Megatron shook his head. “There is no church.” Despite his words he motioned for Optimus to come closer. He pulled Optimus against his frame, stroking the Prime’s cheek. “You will look beautiful, giving guidance through the Ends.”

“Perhaps I will convince you that Primus is our one and only God,” Optimus mused, hoping Megatron would catch on to his playful tone.

Megatron only clicked his glossa. “We shall see.”

* * *

Optimus found that riding on the stag wasn't so bad when he was a willing passenger.

The titanium moose was steadier than many of the zap horses, and Optimus had the added bonus of being at the front of the procession. The tribe had packed everything onto zap horses and carts pulled by iron bulls, with several of the bulls being herded behind them. It left Optimus astounded that even their dwellings had been packed and neatly tucked away into all the luggage. No wonder the wildland mecha were always so hard to pin down- they were tied down no more than the mechanimals were. 

After cycles of walking and trudging through the unchanging wastes, Megatron halted their procession and turned to face his lieutenants who followed closely behind. “We will stop here to fuel the mechanimals,” Megatron said as he motioned to the mecha behind them. “Tell everyone to fuel themselves and their beasts. Skyquake, take a hunting party. See if there is any game. Dreadwing, take a scouting team. Look for energon wells or ponds to take flasks from.”

Optimus wondered if he would be allowed to wander. The wild lands were rich with metalloplants and coarse alloy grass. Copper shrubs rested in the metal sands, hiding energon berries and buds that would eventually bloom. “How long?”

“Long enough to stretch your cables. Here, off.” Optimus was helped to dismount the stag until he was on his stabilizers, and Megatron was close behind. He guided Optimus towards one of the groups that was gearing up to head out among the wastes. “Soundwave! See to it that my mate returns to me unharmed, and with new knowledge.”

Optimus watched Megatron motion towards a tall, slender mech with long, broad arms. He took notice that the mech’s fingers were dull at the ends, unlike the rest of the tribesmecha. He drifted closer, curious. When the black and purple mech turned to him he was shocked by the resemblance to the badge across Megatron’s chest- and that the mech himself also had it emblazoned on both shoulder panels. What also struck him was the sheer screen that replaced the mech’s face. 

“Soundwave?” Optimus asked, watching as the shorter mech nodded to him, but didn't speak. He followed the mech over the metal sands, past the readying group. “Are we going to join one of the other groups.”

“ _ No _ .” Optimus was startled to hear Megatron's voice play back to him from Soundwave. He halted, until Soundwave turned, peering at Optimus with his blank visor. It took the Prime a moment to realize it was a recording being played back to him. 

Soundwave brought a single digit to his visor over where his lip components might have been. His intent was clear:  _ be quiet. _

“Can you speak?” Optimus asked, despite the order to stay silent. 

“ _ –come to suffer empurata–” _ Optimus’s own voice filtered back through the air, allowing him to piece together exactly why it was that this mech spoke in recordings. 

“I'm sorry for your loss. I had no idea that taking a mech’s voice was a part of some empurata.” Optimus bowed his helm slightly as he offered his condolences. “If it helps bring you some peace, empurata has been outlawed since Ultra Magnus’s reign as Magnus.”

“Negative.” Optimus jumped as Soundwave’s vocalized clicked to life. “Optimus Prime: assumes too much. Recommendation: listen instead of preach.”

Optimus tried not to take offense. He followed behind Soundwave, his advice gnawing at his spark. Did he really preach that much? He tried to be accommodating and understanding of the tribal mecha, he really did. Was he being too aggressive? He barely thought about how he spoke about his religion and his normalities in his everyday life. 

Optimus stayed silent as he was lead out of the camp by Soundwave. He observed the area around them, wondering exactly what it was that Soundwave was expected to teach him. 

Soundwave motioned towards an open clearing that was hidden and shaded by a dune. In the shade there was a pride of pneuma lions lazing in a pile. Being so close to what had been described to him as vicious beasts put Optimus on edge, however he had a feeling Soundwave was trying to prove something to him. 

“Optimus Prime: knows little of the badlands.” It was a simple statement, however it still rubbed Optimus’s plating the wrong way. “Solution: observe.”

Optimus nodded, though he was unsure of how this would help him understand. He was unnerved to be so close to a pride of pneuma lions, however he stood still, closed his vents, and waited in silence with Soundwave. Whatever he was expected to learn, he would learn it. 

“Soundwave: role is to survey and control outside communications,” Soundwave offered up after several hours of watching. “Optimus Prime: must appreciate all forms of life. Prime: religious leader. Conclusion: will lead tribe through religious ceremonies.”

Optimus didn't interrupt. He listened to Soundwave’s few words, and instead watched the nature of the wastes occur around him. He watched as a dioptase doe and her fawn approached the clearing, where he noticed an energon pond. The pneuma lions took no care of the prey mechanimals coming close, much to Optimus's surprise. 

“Why don't they attack the doe and her fawn?” he asked, more curious than anything. 

Soundwave twitches a finial spine, but answered, “Fueling: takes priority. Pneuma lions: have plenty of fuel. Hunting: not required when energon pool is plentiful.”

“What happens when the fuel dries?” Optimus asked, his smokestacks itching with anxiety. “Surely the acid rains don't fall enough to keep the energon pools flowing.”

“Mechanimals:  find community pools in the dry seasons. Outside fuel oases: they hunt.” Soundwave turned his helm, watching the pneuma lions lounge and groom, his finials turning and rotating in order to listen to all the sounds around them. Optimus watched as he surveyed, taking in the environment. 

Optimus didn't ask anymore. He was sure that even the harshness of the badlands had their own way of life. Life always found a way, and he was more enraptured by the wildlife around him. He moved, slow and quiet, edging ever closer to the dune where the pneuma lions rested. 

He was stopped by a broad arm. Optimus hadn't even noticed Soundwave move. “Pneuma lions: have cubs. Instinct: attack mecha who come close.”

Disappointed, but understanding, Optimus nodded and pulled back. He would have enjoyed going to see the pneuma lions, perhaps even try to feed the diaptose doe. He knew something so soon would be too much. 

Optimus was about to ask more about the mechanimals when Soundwave’s helm jerked away, turning in the direction of a noise the Prime couldn't pick up. The tribesmech turned and motioned to Optimus to follow.

“Optimus Prime: will follow. Stay close: predators approaching.” Soundwave didn't give any more information. Optimus didn't want to press his luck, falling into step with Soundwave. He tried to stay side by side with the other, only for Soundwave to be one step ahead every time. 

“Optimus Prime: must flank. Mercurial hyenas: will not attack if there are no openings.” Optimus couldn't tell, but he wondered if this was Soundwave’s way of expressing anxiety.

Curious, he looked over his shoulder, only for Soundwave to snap, “Optimus Prime: will look ahead.”

It was the only explanation he was given before he was sideswiped by a swift mechanimal. He stabilized himself, only for the beast to turn tail and lunge. One of Soundwave’s broad arms came up to deflect the mercurial hyena, only to be jumped on from behind. 

While Soundwave was fighting off the majority of the pack, Optimus turned to keep them from attacking from behind, blocking one hyena. It held to his arm, fangs gnashing and toxic saliva dripping from its maw. Optimus saw pure ferocity in its red optics. He shook it off, grimacing at the paint deep scratches to his arm plating. He wasn't meant for battle- while sturdy, and large, Optimus was definitely no warframe. His ceremonial paints were coming off in flakes, and in the high tide of their defense, he couldn't help but worry. 

Distracted, Optimus didn't catch the next hyena that lunged, sinking its fangs into his arm. The Prime cried out, stumbling back. The acidic oral solvent was already eating through the top plating of armor, and that seemed to draw all the other hyenas to him.

Two more bites, the weight of the hyenas pulling him down, Optimus shook them off as best he could. Accelerant rushed through his fuel lines as he fought for what he was sure was his survival. 

A blaster shot into one hyena had the whole pack scrambling away, yipping and laughing as they fled. Optimus saw the end of a micro transformation as Soundwave returned his blaster to his body, already kneeling at Optimus’s side. 

“Why didn't you do that in the first place?” Optimus gasped, blinding pain burning up his arms. He had been bitten three times, and all three had punctured to the protometal and wires beneath. 

“Blasters: require fuel we cannot spare. Emergency use only.” Soundwave was already fondling he bites, finding the punctures and the depth of them. Before Optimus could ask if he was going to be alright, Soundwave said, “Fact: this will hurt.”

Optimus didn't get a chance to question it. He screamed as Soundwave ripped the armor plating right off his arm, energon seeping out as the raw protoform was exposed. He was given no time to come down as Soundwave then moved to his other arm, and did the same. It took patches of the protoform with it that time, and Optimus stared at the blue fluid welling up from his arms. It didn't gush, only oozed. 

“Optimus Prime: must return to camp.” Despite Soundwave helping him to his pedes and being lead steadily back to the camp, Optimus wondered if this would be how he died.

* * *

Three orn of searching and still no sign, scent, or sight of Optimus Prime. Hound was starting to believe that the beloved Prime would be lost to them forever. He skidded to a stop, motioning to Bumblebee behind him to follow suit. “ _ Did you pick anything up on the scanner?” _ he commed, watching the yellow muscle car shift in the metal sands to stop safely.

_ “Nada,” _ Bumblebee beeped. He was revving and humming in his anxiety, the sands having seeped into his joints and gears.  _ “Do you think he's still out here?” _

Hound would have shrugged if he could. Instead he checked his scanner for spark signatures, and turned, ready to head back to their meager camp. They couldn't go back to Sentinel without something, and that something had to be anything. 

Bumblebee beeped in distress as a solar wind came rushing down on them, whipping up the metal sands around them. Hound yelped as he was nearly buffeted over onto his side, until something assaulted his sensitive olfactive sensor. 

“Bee!” he exclaimed as he honked his horn in excitement. “Prime!”

Little more was said as they revved their engines and took off in the direction of the new scent that had been unearthed by the solar flare. 

Three joor later and they pulled up to a dusty clearing free of shrubbery, and the stents of soured energon on the ground. There were splatters that patched over the sand, like metal flowers blooming. Hound transformed to root mode, shifting until he could move steadily over the dune. 

“Bee…” he said, vocalized hushed. He stared, like what he was seeing couldn't be real. Bumblebee approached from behind, beeping an inquiry. 

Instead of answering, Hound pointed to the grey plates of armor on the ground, the outline of an Autobot brand peeking up at them. 


	4. we don't know the future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron offers up something Optimus finds very easy to refuse.

“And you're certain it's the Lord Prime?” Sentinel grunted from where he sat, pedes tapping while Ratchet examined the plating found by their scouting team. 

“The CNA is a 79% match. With the state of decay these were brought in at that's about what we're going to get. I estimate the remains to be two and a half orn old, which means they were an orn old when Hound sniffed them out.” Ratchet dipped his servos in solvent, then stuck them in the decontamination dryer. “The clean rip of them looks like it was done with purpose. Yanked right off, like amputation or…”

“Or?”

Ratchet vented out slow. “Or as a form of torture. They did mention a bit of energon around the scene.”

“And what does our beloved  _ interpreter _ believe?” Sentinel sneered. It was clear he had a distaste for Drift. Drift may have filed down his fangs and claws, but Sentinel was under the impression he would always be no better than a mechanimal.

_ “Drift,” _ Ratchet inclined, “Says that the nomadic mecha rarely torture. That they don't do it for pleasure, and that any executions are dealt with swiftly, barring what he called the ‘Justice Division.’ And even then, I gathered that they only deal with born tribal mecha.”

“And you trust a barbarian, because he clearly knows how bad they can be if he left, right?”

Ratchet bristled and puffed up, snapping, “He's as much from the city as we are. He  _ chose _ to be here, and let me tell you I can't think of why he would make such a stupid decision if this is how he would be treated by those in the government who are supposed to protect their people.”

_ “He _ is not my people,” the acting Magnus sized Ratchet up right back, a scowl that matched Ratchet’s own coming over his features. “He was  _ ‘born’ _ out there, out there is where he can stay.”

“I ought to yank your faceplate right out your aft port!”

“I'll have you arrested!”

“Excuse me.”

Both mecha turned to the door where Drift was approaching with quiet steps. He looked nervous to be in the presence of the acting Magnus, shown by how close he shifted to Ratchet once attention was on him. His stoic features did nothing to assure the surgeon general that the speedster was calm. Drift tiptoed around the back of him, eyeing the acting Magnus from behind Ratchet’s body. 

“Can we  _ help _ you?”

“I came to help assist the inspection of our Lord Prime’s discovered plating.” Ratchet appreciated the way Drift steadfastly refused to call them “remains.” Drift shifted a little, a ripple of movement as he kept his gaze on Sentinel. He reminded Ratchet of a predator, moving with purpose and delicate steps so as not to startle the acting Magnus. 

“Since when were you qualified for that? Are you some voodoo medicine witch doctor?” Sentinel sneered, his plating flaring in Drift’s direction in an attempt to make himself look bigger. Instead of rising to the challenge, Drift shrank back behind Ratchet. 

His voice didn't waver, or sound small, despite his defensive stance. “I have knowledge of the Badlands. I can possibly identify factors outside of city mecha’s scope of expertise.”

Drift didn't wait for Sentinel to respond. Instead he shifted his attention to the grey armor on the examination table, and tilted his head. Ratchet stood guard behind him, arms crossed, leering at the acting Magnus to keep him away from Drift. When the racer turned he pointed to an anomaly along the lower half of the plating. “These punctures. They're from a mechanimal. If I had to guess, because of the corrosion, they're from a mercurial hyena.”

“And what is  _ that _ supposed to mean?” Sentinel said, crossing his arms over his chest. He was every bit about to challenge everything Drift said.

“Mercurial hyenas have acidic oral solvent,” Ratchet filled in. He picked up an examination tool and joined Drift beside the rent plating. “It can melt through our armor straight to the protoflesh, and cause massive leaking from dissolved lines. It looks like this melted through, but it seems to be post-mortum. Post-mortum meaning after the plating was removed, Sentinel.”

The snap shut the acting Magnus up before he could make any comment about Optimus Prime’s possible demise. Sentinel scowled and leaned back, arms crossed. 

“When I was with the tribe and someone was unfortunate enough to be assaulted by a pack of mercurial hyenas we would remove the plating before bringing them in for heali- medical attention.” Drift was shifting his body again, never staying in one place Ratchet would bet it was because he didn't want Sentinel to see him vulnerable in one spot. “There is a very likely chance that our Lord Prime is alive, and in medical care.”

“No wonder you left that pit! Mechanimals that can melt your plating? Barbarians who turn city mecha into berth slaves?” Sentinel was sneering, baring his theoretical fangs at Drift. “It's a wonder there's not more of you desperate to live in the cities.”

Drift flinched at the insinuations. “It's not like that. When we- they-” Drift struggled for a moment to debate whether to align himself with the tribal mecha or to distance himself. He went for neutral, “Tribal mecha don't enslave anyone. Taking mates under your tent is traditional- not- not…”

“Drift doesn't have to explain anything besides what Optimus might be dealing with  _ medically.” _ Ratchet stepped in, pointing his examination tool at the acting Magnus. 

Sentinel vented out in a gust of hot air, and promptly turned. “I already got the report. Optimus Prime is quite possibly fatally wounded. I'll inform the public, and then send out a war party.”

“War?” Drift and Ratchet both said, shock coloring their faces.

Before Drift or Ratchet could question him, Sentinel was already out the door to report to the public.

* * *

Optimus onlined to the sound of Megatron’s voice rising above what had to be any known decibel to cybertronian kind. He lifted his helm, only for pain to bloom through his sensor-net. He groaned, one burning arm coming up to rub his helm. He blinked at where his armor would have rested across the tender amalgam of wire and protoflesh, as if contemplation how it had happened to him at all. Seeing his naked protoform, the delicate cables exposed, was honestly more bizarre than upsetting. 

_ “I entrusted his safety to you and you failed me! You are my most trusted advisor, the only one I can  _ truly _ trust, and you've allowed my mate to come to harm. It was a juvenile mistake.” _ Megatron's voice easily floated through the dim dwelling Optimus had found himself in. A quick look around supplied him with the information that he was in Megatron’s tent. 

A loud clang perforated the air. Optimus struggled to sit up as he heard what sounded like a body hitting the metal sands. Optimus feared it was Soundwave being physically reprimanded. The sound of Megstron’s voice was lower now, hushed,  _ “Your oversight has cost you your privileges as an adult. If you make a juvenile mistake, you will be treated as such. Go join your creations.” _

Megatron entered the tent with an aggressive swagger, his optics glowing in the dim light of the tent. Optimus immediately took note of the dents in his knuckles. 

“Is Soundwave unharmed?” he asked, having to dial up his vocalizer to be heard.

“Soundwave is safe. He has been reprimanded for his lack of foresight,” Megatron said, nodding along with his words. 

“Reprimanding… does that include beating your advisors?” Perhaps a bit too sharp for so soon, but if Megatron was the type to beat his subjects into submission then he would have quite a few words to say about it. 

A look of shock came over Megatron, which slowly morphed into a smug sneer. “How callous. Of course not. Soundwave had merely been sentenced to the youngling circle for some time. He will learn his lesson. Besides, his creations will enjoy the extra time with him.”

Knowing he wouldn't get anything definite through direct questions, Optimus instead reached for Megatron’s bruised servo. “You're hurt.”

If Megatron wouldn't tell him when he asked then he would investigate through his own means. 

Megatron gave his scuffed and dented knuckles a glance, and instead grasped Optimus’s wrist. “Yes. I lost my temper. I… may have upturned a cart in my anger.” 

“So you didn't hit him,” Optimus echoed back, keeping his eyes on Megatron. 

The chieftain squinted, but nodded. “You didn't believe me, and so you used other means to find out this knowledge. You would have made a valiant decepticon. I expect nothing less from my mate.”

Megatron knelt beside the synthetic furs, reaching for Optimus. He leaned over him, one hand coming up under the Prime’s backplate. He teased a claw along the transformation seams that surrounded his spinal strut and Optimus couldn't help but shudder. His windshield vibrated, his spark warming with the pulse of another so close. “When Soundwave’s cryo-falcon Laserbeak arrived with the message you were bitten by the hyenas I carved a warpath to retrieve you.”

“I assume Soundwave ripping off my plating neutralized the spread of the venom,” Optimus grunted, staring at the naked protoform along his arm. Wires laced and crossed where they should have been holding armor, broken cables quiet and without sparks, thankfully. He wondered if the tribesmecha had replacements for armor.

Megatron slid an arm under Optimus, prompting a grunt from him, and pulled his frame up until they were resting against each other. Optimus felt a strange tingling shoot up his neural net as their spark casings were aligned. 

“I worried.”

Hearing it was almost like a confession of sin. Megatron wound his claws between Optimus’s digits, twining them together as he leaned in, his helm against Optimus’s shoulder. Heated vents brushed Optimus’s throat cabling in a way that reminded him of a friend who needed a shoulder to cry on.

Optimus’s entire being pulsed with energy, his spark swollen with empathy. He pulled his hands free only to wrap them around Megatron’s waist, pulling him closer.

The Prime felt it appropriate to blame their kiss on Megatron losing balance. The sparks between them exploded with an intensity Optimus had never felt when kissing. 

Megatron’s frame shifted until he was pinning Optimus to the medical berth, their chests grinding heavy against one another, seeking out the excess pulses of life. Optimus moaned into Megatron’s mouth as his fingertips dug hard into the chieftain’s shoulder plating. 

The clicks and whirrs of micro transformations pulled Optimus out of the spell that the kiss had put him under. He watched as Megatron’s chestplates opened, displaying his spark within its casing. It glowed a deep purple, dark and swollen, and just as he reached out to touch it Megatron’s hand came to cover his spark. 

“My apologies, that…” Megatron looked almost sheepish. “I didn't intend for that to happen.”

Megatron’s spark was dark, and yet still vibrant enough to wash Optimus in a violet light. He stared, entranced, and plucked Megatron’s servo away from the casing. 

“Your spark is beautiful,” he admitted, his fingertips playing with the stray charge that crackled out from the protective spark casing. Optimus leaned in to kiss the corona, pleased with the soft grunt it drew from the chieftain. 

“What's triggered this amorous mood, Prime?”

Optimus shrugged his shoulders in a gentle movement. He caresses the corona of Megatron’s spark, listening for the fans that whirred to life under his touch. “Your spark is… unique. I've never seen one this color.” Red, yellow, blue, sometimes even green- but never purple. He stroked the glass of Megatron’s delicate spark casing, finding it hot to the touch. 

“Sometimes carrying the Unmaker is a burden in its own right.” Megatron’s hand joined Optimus’s, stroking at his own spark. He guided the Prime’s fingers, hissing as he showed Optimus where the tiny seam was on his spark casing, urging Optimus to open it manually. “It was blue. Until I drank the dark energon.”

“Regardless of Unicron’s mark, your spark is marvelous.” Optimus was in awe as Megatron bared his spark completely without protection. He dipped his fingers in deeper, finding the plasma core burning and swallowing him in. Megatron’s entire form flinched, then relaxed as Optimus stroked from within. 

Before he could stop himself, Optimus’s windshield parted. 

“Oh-” Optimus withdrew his hand, to mirror Megatron’s reaction. He cupped his spark, finding it pulsing and sparking. There was a tug, as if magnets drew his chest closer to Megatron’s. 

“Our sparks are drawn to one another.” Megatron cupped Optimus’s hands, his talons clicking against the Prime’s palms. He pulled their bodies close, until the mist of their coronas touched. A brief moment of bliss shorted out Megatron’s optics, sending a pulse of white luminescence through his biolights. “We were meant to be.”

The resonance that stuttered through Optimus’s spark could only agree. He gasped with every brush of their sparks. He reached between them, his fingers sinking back into Megatron’s spark. He toyed with the molten plasma at the core of it, drawing strands of it out before he grasped Megatron’s servo and drew it to his own spark. 

Megatron was more than happy to sink his claws into Optimus’s spark, coiling the stray strands of crackling charge around his knuckle. 

Optimus felt the Matrix burning within his chest become heavy, and drawn to Megatron. He was caught in a kiss before he could comprehend that the Matrix was burning brighter and enveloping them both in its elegant light. 

Although grateful, Optimus couldn't help but feel it was  _ wrong _ not to complete the merge after Megatron’s hand came between them. 

“Not yet.”

The Matrix made a noise within Optimus’s helm that was like a scream. He grunted, frustrated and desperate, and ultimately humiliated. He had allowed himself to be lost in the moment, and now he regretted it. 

“Our bonding ceremony will be when we merge our sparks.” Megatron curled a claw around Optimus’s twitchy servo. “After we drink before the shrine of the Thirteen, we will become one.”

It didn’t settle Optimus’s tanks. Instead it upset him more. “We’ll join sparks at the ceremony? Will it be  _ public?” _

“Yes, of course,” Megatron hummed, nodding along. He either didn’t notice Optimus’s incredulousness or he didn’t care. “It is tradition to have a public ceremony as the chieftain. It is a time of celebration for my mate to be brought into my tent. Whenever a chieftain takes a mate it is a time for celebration, it marks prosperity and growth throughout the tribe. There is also the expectation for us then to, ah… deliver.”

A telling servo came to Optimus’s abdominal plating. The meaning of it was lost on the Prime.

“What does that mean? Deliver?” It only made Optimus nervous. He wasn’t sure how he would handle being seen by everyone, sharing his spark publicly. The very thought sent waves of nausea through him.

The question brought a look of puzzlement to Megatron’s features. “Sparklings, of course,” he said, nodding solemnly along with his words. “As chieftain I have a duty to my people, and that is to grace them with an heir. Preferably many…”

The caress to Optimus’s belly became all that much more uncomfortable. “Sparklings- yes, I- I remember being told… you carry your younglings in your own frames.”

“In the city you do not?” Megatron twitched slightly, as if the thought made him squeamish.

“No, in the city we’re forged or cold-constructed. We are either made specifically for a function or we are manufactured into a caste and function as a model type.” Perhaps it was explaining it, but after hearing that the mecha “created” their own sparklings themselves, within their frames, the way he was used to seemed… off. 

Megatron tilted his head once more. He then shook his helm and wrapped an arm around Optimus, pulling their frames close. “You do things so differently there. I cannot imagine living in such a place where your young don’t come from your frame, where you do not have units of your own to retreat to. Understand that here, one of us will carry our sparklings, we will be together in my tent. No one is constructed away from their creator.”

“Primus is our creator,” Optimus corrected.

“Primus gave us the gift of creation,” was Megatron’s response. “It is our gift to use. You cannot say that Primus created your frame when you yourself said it was constructed.”

Optimus couldn’t argue with that. “I’ll give you that, Megatron. But don’t let this one victory cloud your ability to debate.”

Rows of sharp teeth appeared in a sly smile. “Of course not, My Prime.”

* * *

Once healed, Optimus was outfitted with a crude piece of metal that covered his protoform. “It’s temporary,” Knock Out had told him, “Just until we get to New Kaon.” It was ugly, and it looked worn and unclean, but it would do until a suitable replacement could be found.

Several joors into their travel, Optimus found himself pondering a thought. “Did you know Drift?”

“Who?” Megatron grunted, holding the reigns of the stag tightly.

“At the gates of Iacon. He was my interpreter.” Optimus wanted to know the story behind those glares and Drift’s nervousness. He had never known Drift to be so uncomfortable. For as long as he had known him, Drift was a collected and serene mech. He didn’t scare easily.

“Ah. _ Deadlock. _ Yes. I know him. He was one of our prize hunters, before the  _ filth.” _ Megatron spat the word, and Drift’s former name.

“Drift would never speak of his time in the tribe,” Optimus said, even more curious now that there seemed to be a story behind it. “He only told me about customs, about your lives in the wastes- I apologize, the badlands.”

“Deadlock was a promising member of the tribe,” Megatron rumbled. Optimus watched him grip the reins of the stag tighter. “Was. He has not been in a very long time?”

“What happened?”

Megatron persed his derma and vented out, heavy and tired. “We used to be much kinder to your type. We would welcome city dwellers and travelers into our fold- we even have some who decided to stay.” The pause gave Optimus a chance to look around at the traveling mecha, perhaps to pick any out. “Deadlock was… close to me. For a time.”

“Close?”

“I took him as a lover for some time.” Megatron seemed to slump forward at the confession. “I held him very dear. And then we took in some travelers from, ah… I’m not sure the city, they called it the Dead End, in our language.”

“Rodion,” Optimus said, knowing immediately where Megatron meant. Rodion was an impoverished city-state, filled to the brim with criminals, leakers, homeless, functionless. It was sad, and Optimus always wished to reach out to the unfortunate sparks in Rodion; so far the priests had limited his reach to them.

“Yes, Rodion. They brought,” Megatron paused to grimace. “They called it syk. We call those kinds of substances rusters.”

Syk. Optimus nodded, knowing exactly which substance Megatron spoke of. Leakers and syk addicts were among the population he fought to reach when the council tried their damndest not to let him near them. “I had no idea Drift struggled with syk addiction.”

Megatron scowled. “Those travelers parted ways, but not before selling Deadlock a stash of that  _ scrap.” _ The chieftain had to flare out his armor to let loose the heat his anger had caused to build up beneath his plating. “I tried to do what was best for Deadlock by destroying it, but it only drove him into the cities. He returned to us only once, strung out on syk and begging for help. He had nearly starved himself in order to get to New Kaon to rejoin the tribe.”

“And?” Optimus could only imagine this ending in heartbreak, if Drift’s place among the city was any indication.

Derma set in a straight line, Megatron said, “Deadlock stole a precious artifact, and returned to the city. I can only assume that he sold it to buy more syk. I sent the justice division after him for his crimes against the tribe.”

“What does that mean?” Optimus asked, gaze slitting in suspicion.

“The justice division handles crime within the tribe.” Megatron clicked his glossa in a way that made it sound as if he were disappointed. “You have the elite guard, we have the justice division.”

“What would his punishment have been?” Optimus queried. He was sympathetic- Drift was an honest to Primus good mech; it was startling to hear he struggled with addiction, and was even wanted for a horrific crime.

“Death.”

The shock must have been evident. Megatron went on to say, “His betrayal could be forgiven if he had only left us to return to the city. The only thing he would have been taking from us is himself. But he stole from us, he took a sacred relic from the shrine of the Ends. To think of something so precious to this tribe, so precious to  _ Deadlock _ at one point…”

Optimus didn't press for an answer when the chieftain trailed off. Instead he slumped against his back, wondering exactly what Drift could be doing at that point- because it certainly wasn't selling sacred artifacts to syk dealers.

* * *

New Kaon, Optimus found out, was a series of tunnels beneath the ruins of a dead city. Maws that marked openings and entrances pointed them in the right direction, large enough to allow all the mechanimals through. As they traversed through the darkened tunnels, peppered with winking crystals to light their path Optimus tried to memorized the turns they took, how long it took at a casual pace to reach each one. It didn't take long for his processor to become muddled by all the shuffling and the hushing that tribesmecha said to their zap horses.

Optimus’s blue optics weren't nearly as sharpened and adept to the dark as the red optics of the Decepticon tribe. He could only guess that they had developed optics to see in the darkness, able to pick up any and all stray strands of light. At the head of the procession, Megatron’s red optics burned in the blanket of darkness.

The darkness opened up to a low light, as the procession pulled into a wide open space. Megatron motioned for a few hunters to take the front. 

There was no explanation for the shift in formation. But as they traversed through the opened tunnels Megatron soon came to a stop, and turned his stag to face his entourage, “Decepticons! We are home!”

The reaction to the  announcement was more animated than Optimus would have guessed. The tribe cheered and whooped, already jumping off their zap ponies or reaching for their caravans. Optimus watched them until Megatron turned them once more and urged his stag further into the dark of the cavern.

Megatron took them down what felt like a long, grand hall until he halted, and reached back to pat Optimus’s thigh. Optimus took that as a sign he should dismount. When he did so, Megatron joined him on the ground and gave the titanium moose a smack and watched it trot off.

“Come with me,” the chieftain rumbled, taking Optimus’s hand in his own. “I want to show you something.”

“What about… setting up?” Optimus could only assume that was what the rest of the tribe was doing. The caverns felt vast and empty. They must set up their tents instead of building permanent homes in New Kaon.

“My chambers are set up behind the throne. I keep my berth set up year round.” Megatron kept them moving down the grand hall where there was a sharp, vicious looking seat. Optimus didn’t ask about the state of the throne. It looked woefully uncomfortable, and though as Prime, Optimus may have had a seat at the head of the church he had been in a delicately woven seat with his head priests at his sides. This gave the view of a tyrannical dictator.

Behind the throne was a slender walkway that Megatron barely fit through. At the end of it was a gently lit room that Optimus found rather… cozy. There were skins and mesh blankets knitted togethern from various mechanimals and stuffed with soft robochicken feathers. Bottled energon crystals gave off a gentle blue and purple glow. A small energon pool trickled on one side, like a personal fountain.

“Is this…”

“This is my personal berth. And now yours, as well.” Megatron guided Optimus in, helping him to sit back on the primitive berth. He kissed the back of Optimus’s servo, smirking up at him. Optimus thought he saw Megatron’s optics flicker the same color as his spark. He played it off as a trick of the low light.

“I had something special to share with you.”

Optimus watched as Megatron when to a subspace generator beside the energon flow, pulling out something that glowed purple. When he turned, Optimus found it was a cube of energon; it pulsed a sickening purple color that sent shudders through Optimus’s struts.

“Is that-”

“Dark energon,” Megatron rumbled, looking rather eager. He cracked open the cube, and then offered it up to Optimus.

The Prime stared, unwilling to take the cube, but unsure what to say. “You want me to drink that.”

“Yes,” Megatron insisted. He pushed the cube forward, only for Optimus to inch away from it. “It will heighten your insight. I cannot imagine what it could do with the powers and wisdom a Prime has.”

“That’s- that’s sick.” Optimus turned and scooted back, trying to put distance between him and Megatron. “I won’t drink it. I will not saddle the Unmaker, the- the pure antithesis of Primus. It’s wrong- you’re wrong.”

Megatron scowled. “What do you mean I’m  _ wrong _ ?” 

“It’s wrong.” Optimus rose to his feet, looking rather uncomfortable. He stayed firm. “Dark energon isn’t meant to be ingested, it’s the blood of Unicron.”

“If you would only drink it then you would understand the powers it bestows.”

“I don’t want them. They’re not meant for us.” Optimus was growing uncomfortable with the formidable anger he felt rising from Megatron’s field.

“I’m insulted,” Megatron growled.

“You should be,” Optimus snapped, leering at the chieftain. “You trifle with powers you don’t understand.”

“Do not raise your tone with me, Prime,” Megatron rumbled, his hackles rising and his grip tightening around the cube of dark energon. “Drink this.”

“No.” Optimus rose up to size Megatron up, not allowing him space to be intimidating. “Your foul means of milking the Unmaker’s powers is shameful. I will have no part of it.”

Optimus didn’t anticipate the cube to be thrown. He covered his head, only to hear Megatron’s stomps heading away from him. When he looked up there was spoiled energon and an empty berth to greet him.


	5. swim ashore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron and Optimus struggle with the differences between them. Starscream is up to no good, it seems. Skywarp is comic relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to start out with an apology for both the short length of the chapter and the long wait. I don't normally apologize for those things, but this time it's been exceptionally long. Life swept me away and it's taken a toll on my mental health.
> 
> I made some changes to chapter 2 to fill plot holes and fix continuity errors. The only thing that was changed was Optimus's conversation with Knock Out. Give it a read if you would.

Starscream skittered through the caverns, wings pressed flat against his body. His red optics pierced the total darkness like glowing jewels. He slithered above the mecha below him, pausing to make sure they wouldn’t hear him. He listened to their casual banter and couldn’t help a disgusted flutter of his wings. Simpletons.

Starscream was slow to slink through the last of the tunnels, sputtering as he stepped in a puddle of energon. He grumbled as he shook his pede, his thruster already gummed up. He fussed and whined, up until he was nearly bowled right over by his trinemate with a distinct  _ pop! _

“Oh, hey, ‘Scream.” Skywarp picked himself up, dusting himself off. Starscream wasn’t so lucky, having fallen in the puddle of spoiled energon. “What are you doing sneaking around the back tunnels?”

“What are  _ you _ doing?” Starscream shrieked, scrambling up and shaking himself vigorously. He rubbed at his wet plating, trying to hand-dry himself.

“Oh, uh, I’m always back here. For reasons.”

Starscream rolled his optics. Leave it to Skywarp to be using the secret tunnels known by few for  _ pranks _ . “Would you kindly enlighten me what you’re up to  _ now _ so that I may go about my important business without being interrupted by your foolishness?”

“Uh, well, Vortex might be real mad at me, so I’m not really doin’ anything  _ now _ but-”

“I don’t want to know,” Starscream snapped, stalking past his trinemate.

“What are you doing back here anyway, ‘Scream?” Skywarp chattered, following Starscream down the narrow tunnel. “You’re not still meeting up with Ramjet are you? That’s so old news, you know he doesn’t care about us anymore. He’s just trying not to piss off Megs.”

“Have more respect than that for your chieftain, false or not,” Starscream growled, reaching back to cuff Skywarp over the audial.

“Aw, ‘Scream, Megs ain’t so bad. You just gotta stop takin’ shots at him.” Skywarp popped ahead of Starscream just a few paces in order to face him as they walked, taking steps backwards down the tunnel.

“I refuse to be treated like anything less than what I am, and that is the heir to  _ my _ tribe.” Fanning out his wings in his anger, Starscream yelped as the sensitive appendages scraped against the sides of the tunnels. His pain only aroused laughter from Skywarp. “Silence! You laugh, but what will become of our trine with Megatron’s new shareware? The Prime is threatening our place in the chain of command.”

“Really? I thought the mech was just here to give Megs some sparklings and to keep his spike wet.” Skywarp popped behind Starscream, and then in front of him again in order to  keep himself busy. He was in constant motion, shifting and puttering. It drove Starscream mad.

“Or are you just jealous ‘cause you're not Megs’ favorite anymore?”

The comment had Starscream shrieking, “How dare you accuse me of such! That monster debauched me, humiliated me, used me as some desperate interface toy, you- you-”

“And we all know you really like his spike, wow, get over it.” Skywarp popped out of the way just as Starscream took a swing at him. Starscream was stomping and shrieking, echoing through the uncomfortably small tunnel. “Chill out, ‘Scream. Seriously, we only came to Megs’ tribe because Ramjet didn't want to waste an opportunity. Can you really say we’re super important if we got sold down the river?”

“And now Megatron has seized all but total control of our tribe!” Starscream was stomping his way down the tunnel now, steaming and vibrating with disgust. “I am a  _ prince _ ! I will not be thrown aside so easily. I refuse!”

“Does TC know you're all up in arms like this?” Skywarp sounded bored. It disgusted him. 

“That fool won't listen to reason. Just writes in his precious datapads and fusses over younglings like some nest crazed carrier.” Starscream stroked his chin with a thoughtful digit. He looked deep in thought as he stalked forth, Skywarp padding after him like a hellhound whelp. “He acts as though this place is  _ better _ than the aeyrie! Our cliffs and mountains have nothing on this damp, dark, claustrophobic-”

“I get it, you miss Vos,” Skywarp groaned. He rolled his optics, giving Starscream a nudge. “Come on, stupid head, let's meet up with Ramjet so he can tell you to frag off and we can get back to something important.”

“Skywarp!”

* * *

Optimus didn't recharge. Nothing new, he thought, laying in the nest. He had drank from the energon fountain, finding it tasted very similar to what he was used to in the city. He had considered wandering, but decided against it only because he was unsure if he could find his way back. Being caught unawares and without means to return to his safe space was not what he wanted. Though he loathed to think of the small berth room as his safe space.

His helm ached and throbbed near the top of his spinal strut, his optics offering static in some inputs. He wondered if he only shuttered his optics for a moment...

His processor must have shut down at some point, out of sheer necessity for a defragmentation cycle. Optimus onlined his optics to a weight disturbing the synthetic furs he had curled around himself. He ignored the smooth, soft touches that stroked down over his helm fins. 

“Prime,” Megatron rumbled, the back of a knuckle brushing over Optimus's cheek. “I can feel your engine. I want to speak.”

The only indication that Optimus gave to acknowledge Megatron was a rotation of his audial ring. Megatron chuffed. “Fine. I came to…” A pause. Optimus heard Megatron swallow back oral lubricant. “Apologize.”

That certainly got his attention. Optimus tried not to seem too eager as he shifted, turning his head to peer at Megatron out the corner of his optics. He waited, silent and expectant. 

It took Megatron more than a couple kliks to come up with the words. “I… apologize for attempting to coerce you into consuming dark energon. After introspection I have realized that as the vessel of Primus, you would not need its effects. As the prophet of one End, you have no need for the powers of the other. I lost my temper, and after having time to think in hindsight, I realize I was wrong to react so harshly.”

It wasn't what Optimus had expected. He hadn't expected an apology at all. Megatron hadn't apologized for anything else so far- the coerced interface, the kidnapping, the… well, everything, really. It was better than nothing.

The Prime lifted himself up, nodding in acknowledgement. “Thank you.” He uncurled himself, allowing himself to spread across the berth, reaching back to grasp the chieftain. It helped to have him within reach, to touch him and keep his movements under a watchful eye. He didn't expect Megatron to move in so quickly for a kiss.

Optimus's first reaction was to jerk back. Megatron palmed the back of his helm to pull him back in, his sharp fangs scraping against the sensitive metal of Optimus's dermas. 

Realization of Megatron's goal washed over Optimus like an avalanche. He shoved a hand against the chieftain’s chest, digging his digits into the badge on his chest. It had Megatron flinching to have his spark chamber clutched so blatantly. Optimus only held tighter, scraping harder as Megatron pressed into him. 

Megatron gasped and, finally, relented. He clutched at Optimus’s hand over his spark, his plating rattling. Optimus felt a rush of relief over his frame, and realized just how hard he had been digging into the thick, protective plasteel. Guilt compelled him to rub the nicks he'd left. 

Instead, Megatron snatched up the hand that had caused him pain. He kissed the tip of Optimus's digits, peering up from his lowered helm. Fear trickled through Optimus. He had been left untouched by Megatron since they had touched one another's sparks, beyond wayward, longing caresses and aching looks. He could tell the chieftain was desperate for more. He was afraid to give it. 

How much would he allow Megatron to take from him before he freely gave it? The church would only understand so much. They would look at his first encounters with pity enough as it was, think him weak and helpless that the “savages” and their chieftain had used him like some toy.

Anger pulsed through his swollen spark. Optimus refused to be seen as weak, if not by the church then by the tribe.

“You have taken enough from me,” he whispered, unable to raise his voice further. He felt as if his vocalizer would crack. “Please, don't take any more.”

A moment of surprise pulsed through Megatron, pulling himself back. “As you wish, my Prime.”

The words echoed in Optimus’s helm as Megatron laid him down, curling up behind him. There was no touch, only the warm vents of the chieftain against his neck. 

* * *

“This is where we will bond,” Megatron said, motioning to the grand hall with the throne. “I thought perhaps, if it would make you comfortable, we could set up screens. For privacy.”

“Privacy?” Optimus’s tank lurched at the thought of bonding in public. 

“I remember you were upset when I told you.” Megatron clasped his hands behind his back as he spoke. “I thought privacy might help you adjust better to being bonded to me so suddenly. I know this is a drastic change for you. Knock Out tells me that in the cities, bonding is very private.”

There was a mixed amount of relief and embarrassment through Optimus’s nerves. An enormous weight felt lifted from his shoulders knowing he would not be watched by anyone so blatantly. The only one who would see his spark would be Megatron and possibly their officiating mech. At the same time, he was horrified at how complacent he was to let this happen. 

Megatron reached for his hand. Optimus let him take it. He gave a comforting squeeze before he pulled him in for a tender kiss. 

“The dark energon gives me visions,” Megatron murmured, quiet against Optimus’s cheek. “I saw you wreathed in extraordinary cloths, elegant and refined. I saw you presiding judgement over a procession, your spark alight with life and wisdom.” 

Optimus wondered if it had been a vision of the past, in his previous court holdings. As Prime it was his duty to preside over the church and their decisions, and to sit beside his Magnus as they presided over the public. “Was I the only one you saw?”

He wasn't sure what possessed him to ask. 

Megatron shook his head, arms crossing over his chest. “No. There was another, seated beside you. Blue and white, and a massive hammer.”

“Oh-” Optimus perked up a bit at the mention. “Ultra Magnus. He was my equal, in terms of power. As I presided over the church, he presided over the civil duties of Iacon.”

Megatron nodded. “That is not all.” The chieftain looked… nervous. As if what he were about to say could cause calamity. “I saw myself, on your other side. With a weapon I had never seen before, adorned with… ornaments unknown to me. I do not know what this vision means, but I know it to be something true. Whether now or later, it feels… insistent.”

Optimus went still, considering the implications of the vision. Three mecha of power, presiding over the cities of Cybertron. A Prime, a Magnus, and… And what else? There had only ever been a Prime and a Magnus, as long as he had been forged. 

“I was wondering, my Prime.”

Optimus turned his attention back to the mech before him. He watched the way the bottled energon lights reflected an eerie blue over Megatron’s gunmetal paint, warring with the delicate sharpness of his red optics. Optimus considered the intimate lighting, the darkness that shrouded them and gave them the illusion that they were the only ones in the universe at that moment in time.

“I was wondering, earlier you said this Ultra Magnus  _ was _ your equal in power. You seemed rather excited that I mentioned him.” Megatron swept a hand up to brush his thumb over the insignia on Optimus’s pauldron. “Is he, ah… Competition? For me?”

Confusion settled over Optimus, still considering the vision Megatron had described. “What do you mean?”

“Were you and him… involved?”

Before he could censor himself, Optimus deadpanned, “Did you forget the whole affair where you broke my seals?”

Optimus was about to apologize for his crassness when Megatron burst into guffawing laughter, his hands coming up to hold his midsection as if he would fall apart from his amusement. 

“Well played, my Prime, however there are many different ways to interface, not all of them include breaking seals.” Megatron shrugged off his laughter as he regained his composure, though his smile stayed firm along his derma. “But again. You said he  _ was _ your equal. Tell me, has he perished? Or have you accepted your place here?”

Optimus was startled by the chieftains discernment. “He was injured,” he said, “When trying to halt your tribe’s advancement of our energon fields.”

Megatron wasn't blind to the melancholy that settled over Optimus at the mention. He nodded, crossing his arms. “The city energon fields continue to swallow our territory. Just last dry season you mined out a natural energon reserve that the diaptose deer flocked to each vorn. It required us to reroute our hunting paths indefinitely.”

Optimus felt as if he should have been defensive. He calmed himself instead, mulling over what Megatron said. “But what about the cities? We need expansion as well. As a tribe grows, so do cities.”

“They can grow away from our territories.” Megatron flicked his helm to the side, then back to Optimus. “Our way of life may be savage to you. I know they call us barbarians. We fight with Cybertron daily to survive its harsh Badlands. If fighting the cities is a part of that, then we will.”

“Why do we need to fight?” Optimus butted in, the irritation and anger flaring in his field once more. Megatron didn't seem intimidated, instead readily swallowing the emotion into his own field. “Hadn't you thought of speaking to us? Instead of engaging us in violence. Good mecha were lost to pointless violence if all you wanted was us not to invade your territories.”

“Oh trust me, my Prime. We have tried many methods to get through to your kind.” Megatron crossed his arms, his purple optics slipping down to narrow slits. Optimus was struck by the sudden shift in the chieftain from playful to predatory. “Zeta Prime assured that peaceful negotiations would be nearly impossible.”

“Zeta was not kind, nor was he amiable,” Optimus said, his irritation speaking through his tone. He knew Zeta had been a tyrant, a violent and unpredictable force- but he was  _ annoyed _ , and for some reason that made him want to win this argument more than anything. “But-”

“Zeta Prime took one of Soundwave’s younglings captive and murdered him in the name of Primus.” Megatron didn't let Optimus give a reason to redeem Zeta, weak or not. There was a look of pure disgust across the chieftain’s features. “The last mech I sent him to negotiate, he posted her helm on a staff at the edge of an energon field as a message to us.”

Optimus reeled back, shame prickling at his lines. “I-” he stopped himself. He needed to calm himself. He took ahold of what little calm was left in him, and let it seep through the rest of him. “I apologize. I didn't think. Of course Zeta caused irreparable harm. I was too caught up in…” In what? Competition? Primes were not supposed to be competitive. 

Then again, Primes weren't supposed to behead innocent mecha and leave their remains for others to see, either.

“Zeta Prime was a scourge.” Megatron turned away, his pauldrons slumping for only a moment. He straightened himself and looked over his shoulder. “When you had sent the tribe a peaceful offering to meet, we did not know Zeta had perished. We prepared for war.”

“Is that why the whole tribe… had come away from New Kaon?” Optimus had been curious why no one had remained in their home. Even if the tribal mecha were nomadic it was hard to imagine them carting over a hundred mecha to a city for negotiations. 

The curt nod was enough of an answer. 

“But you brought your young, the elderly.”

“And they all would have fought rather than be slaughtered.”

Field bristling, Optimus’s temper flared back to life. “What sort of leader brings mechlings and elders to what could be a battle?”

“The leader of mechs who will not be cowed into submission.” Megatron shook his helm, squaring his pauldrons as he slowly, deliberately, lowered himself to one knee. He reached for Optimus’s servo, and the Prime let him have it. With a well placed kiss along the back of his hand, Megatron rumbled out, “Optimus Prime, under the optics of the Ends and the Thirteen who watch over us, I formally ask for your spark. I ask for your partnership, your wisdom, and your forgiveness that I have not brought you traditional courting gifts.”

Optimus was only mildly surprised at the formal request. The Matrix thrummed with warmth. He swallowed the build up of oral lubricant in this mouth, fighting the desire to pull his hand away. 

It was then the Matrix pulsed, and a softly lit image of what Megatron had described to him became visible behind his optics. Three mechs, sitting in the grand hall of the church. Megatron on his right and Ultra Magnus on his left. 

Optimus pondered the vision as Megatron gazed up at him from his kneeling position. The Matrix had never lead him astray, though the confounded artifact was rarely helpful or clear. Whether he liked it or not, Optimus was being given an astoundingly clear visual of what the future  _ could _ be. 

The Prime reached to clasp Megatron’s hand in both his own. He held him there, staring into the clear cut depths of Megatron’s optics. He expelled a hot vent of air and gave a curt nod. “I accept.”


	6. The calm comes quickly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus uncovers note of Megatron, both politically and socially.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for such a long wait for less than 5k words. I’m having kind of a rough time. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the chapter, and some encouragement would be appreciated.

“The real barbarism is what Sentinel is going to do to the tribe.” Drift stared over the top of his ration, seated comfortably in the dimly lit corner of Ratchet’s office. “Or worse, what they will think of the tribe when Megatron wipes out the war party.”

“You really think Megatron can make an entire army of Elite Guard gutter?” Ratchet snorted from his desk. He held a datapad in his servos, his fingers tapping away somewhere between lazy and anxious. “I've heard you say he's a strong mech, but I didn't think he was that powerful.”

“Not alone,” Drift admitted, lifting his gaze. “With his top lieutenants, I believe he could level all of Iacon.”

“What about that… justice division or whatever. The ones you've told me about. Wouldn't they be a formidable force to send after us poor city mecha?” Ratchet asked, finally setting down his datapad. There would be no more work done. It was late, his medbay closed beyond the in-patients and Ambulon on night shift. Technically, Ratchet had been off shift for several joor.

Drift shook his helm. “The DJD handle tribal traitors only. Such as myself. I have no doubt if they came across wayward city mecha they would be more than happy to do away with them. Megatron gave them agency of themselves. Ah…” Drift had to think for a moment, derma pursed together. “The DJD operate as their own tribe, for the most part. Ultimately they answer to Megatron, but they are under no obligation to answer to any need the Decepticon Tribe has. Knowing Tarn, I believe he wouldn't hesitate to heed Megatron’s call, but I pray that never happens. Megatron is a force on his own; Tarn is another monster entirely.”

A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by Ratchet tapping his stylus against his desk. There were more questions, and both knew very well few of them would be answered.

“Drift, answer me honestly. Do you think Optimus is alive? And will he stay alive?”

Drift spared a glance to his cube, then back to Ratchet. “The badlands are unkind to the weak.” Before Ratchet could rebut, he went on, ”I think Our Lord Prime is stronger than he seems.”

Ratchet made a noise, displeased by the non-answer. He leaned back in his chair, and reached back to ease his palms against his aching back struts. “You and that inner peace nonsense need to learn how to give a straight answer.”

“Then, yes.”

“Hm?” Ratchet inclined his helm in Drift’s direction. “Yes what?”

“Yes, I think Optimus is alive. Whether he stays alive or not is up to him.” Drift set his cube aside as he rose to his pedes, only to cross the space between him and Ratchet. “I have faith in Our Lord Prime.”

Ratchet nodded and crossed his arms. “Well, glad one of us is optimistic.”

Silence swallowed them. Ratchet was slow to look up, his digits tapping out a slow beat on his desk. “Drift?”

“Ratchet.” Drift met the doctor’s gaze with a twinkle in his optic, already guessing what it was he was going to say.

“At any given moment, where would you think the Decepticon tribe is right now?” Ratchet straightened himself up, folding his hands together over his desk. “And weather permitting, about how long would it take to drive there?”

* * *

Optimus officially met Second Lieutenant Lugnut in a dark pathway, lit only by bottled energon crystals. The titan had stalked down the narrow path with rumbling footsteps that rattled the lights and startled Optimus out of troubling thoughts. Forced to look up at the giant mech, his singular optic trained on the Prime with intense certainty, had been unnerving at best.

“May I… help you?”

The giant’s engine roared and steam rose through the vents on his back. “Behold, Vessel of the First End, I am Lugnut, our glorious, almighty Chieftain Megatron’s most loyal servant.” The massive mech motioned with his hands dramatically, as if the flair would insure his words were cemented in Optimus’s helm. “Though I find our loquacious and sundry leader to be bewitched by your guiles and charm not of his choosing, I take my job very seriously.”

Optimus had an inkling he was being threatened. He inched back, a nervous stumble in his step. “Job?”

The Prime wasn’t at all prepared for the titan to crunch the cavern floor as he knelt on one knee, bowing his helm with one claw over his spark. “Though I am loathe to serve any but my glorious lord Megatron, I kneel to you, Vessel of the First End on my true master’s orders. And I require important information only you may give me.”

Anxiety gave way to confusion.

“Information?”

Lugnut rotated his single optic and clacked a claw at Optimus. The sound of grinding metal set his sensornet on fire. “This is a very important question, Vessel of the First End. Something that will affect you for many years to come, something that will be no doubt burned into your memory core.”

Primus, Optimus thought, would he get to the point, so he might understand what horrors were about to befall him.

“What color do you demand your ceremonial paints to be?”

Optimus shuttered his optics once. Twice. Then a third time. He settled on rebooting them eventually just to see if this was right. “The color of my ceremonial paints…”

“You can even choose the color most pleasing to your disgustingly blue optics,” Lugnut bellowed, far louder than Optimus thought was needed. “However-“

That was exactly what Optimus was afraid of.

“It is traditional for the newcomer to the tribe to take the colors of their new home.” It was then that out of his subspace he pulled a thin sheet of metal. Was that… a paint sample? It was rough around the edges and not as neat and tidy as in the city but… that seemed to be it.

“So I should pick purple,” Optimus said, unsure if that was what he was being asked. For some reason, he doubted purple would look appropriate along his red and blue paint job.

It was clear Lugnut took his job seriously, as he had said, because he produced several more paint samples from his subspace. Optimus could tell that he wasn’t going anywhere soon. Megatron would just have to wait.

Megatron did wait. A long time, in fact. So long that he came looking for Optimus, who, unfortunately, was still trapped in the walkway with Lugnut.

It had been joors of Optimus arguing with the brute, who insisted on this and that, and no little amount of glorifying Megatron to the high heavens. Optimus was even relieved to see Megatron. His pedes were becoming sore after standing for so long, and Lugnut wasn’t faltering in his insistence. Optimus, however, was wearing down, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was how the tribe won all its arguments- by siccing Lugnut on them.

“Lugnut,” Megatron said, one servo coming to rest on his lieutenant’s pauldron. The behemoth stood even taller than the enormous chieftain. “I believe my intended may be tired. Perhaps you can resume your meeting with him about the ceremony in a more professional setting at another time.”

The correction from Megatron had striking results. Lugnut straightened himself before bowing. “Affirmative, my glorious master. A thousand apologies for not thinking beyond my excitement. I am still so humbled you’ve asked me to direct your bonding.”

Megatron nodded and shooed Lugnut away, motioning for Optimus to follow. “How long did he keep you?”

“Long enough for my back struts to ache,” Optimus said, a tinge of bitterness in his tone. He surprised himself; he was afraid he sounded like Ratchet. “Lugnut seems… nice.”

“Fanatical. Obtuse. Absurd.”

Well, at least Megatron was aware of Lugnut’s fastidious nature.

“Lugnut is a lunatic, and an idiot.” Megatron rubbed at the ridge of his olfactive sensor, shaking his helm. “I apologize for him. However, I found it best to keep him busy planning the ceremony, as I trust him to perform impeccably, and… ah…”

“Yes?”

“He would otherwise, for lack of a better term, stalk you.”

Optical ridges rising, Optimus struggled to keep his features neutral. “Stalk me?”

“Yes. He has a habit of… vetting my berthmates.” Megatron turned his helm, as if he no longer wanted to dwell on the subject. Optimus dutifully let it be. “Regardless, I had asked you to join me in the war room. I wanted you to be a part of how I run the tribe. It is your tribe as well now. You have a place at my side, not at my pedes.”

Optimus was pleasantly surprised by this. As Megatron lead him through the tunnels he spoke, his voice soft, “I want you as my mate, my Prime, not as a pet or a captive. The chieftain’s mate must be strong, a leader. I want you to share in ruling our tribe.”

Megatron faultered only a moment, before he said with a tentative bush to his vocalizer, “The chieftain’s mate is another chieftain in the eyes of the tribe.”

The Prime turned to look at Megatron fully. Up close, Megatron looked weary and tired, as if he’d spent too long without a defrag. He reached out to him, blunt fingers resting against Megatron’s pauldron. “Megatron,” he said, swallowing oral lubricant after, “You are exhausted. You must rest.”

“Rest will come after.” Megatron shook the hand off his shoulder, turning his gaze away. Optimus didn’t miss the slight lean into his touch, and how Megatron’s servos clenched into fists as he drew away.

Megatron lead them through the tunnels, some of which Optimus recognized. At the fork of every tunnel there were markings that resembled the glyphs used for numbers in Iacon, and already the Prime internalized the information. If he knew his surroundings he could better navigate his new home- no matter how frightening it was to think of the dark caverns as such. 

The mechanical doors, coded with a lever combination that opened two forks down from the throne room, parted to reveal several mechs murmuring around a table, marked with cartography and old, beaten up slabs that Optimus surmised may have once been datapads. Soundwave and Shockwave stood together, with a large femme across from them. Among the mecha there, Optimus immediately picked Knock Out and Starscream out among the strange faces. The two had not yet taken notice of the open doors, instead leaning with intent against one another, voices hushed. Starscream stared into the cartography with fierce optics and two fingers held thoughtfully against his jaw.

Optimus met the flier’s gaze for only a moment before Megatron spoke, “As you all know, the Prime has joined us, both as my mate and as a member of our tribe. I have taken the traditional route of encouraging my mate to address the Advisory as chieftain, despite being from The Outside. The last this tribe had two chieftains was more than a millennia ago, and I believe with his religious knowledge, and enhanced connection to the First End, he will better this tribe and its people.”

Optimus stood beside Megatron, the massive mech striking a pose of utmost professionalism as he addressed his adjoining mecha. It reminded the Prime of the Court and their political games. He watched the mecha gathered pondering, some speaking quietly amongst themselves.

Soundwave, two steps behind everyone else at the table, was the first to speak, “Inquiry: Lord Megatron is sure of compatibility through spirituality?”

Megatron let a moment of silence pass between them before answering. “I am sure in my spark. The Final End’s assuredness of my intended mate courses through my fuel lines, and I have no doubt he would be accepted.”

“You have no doubt,” Starscream spoke, and Optimus met his gaze again. Starscream’s optics burned with something the Prime couldn’t place. There was unbridled passion in the flier’s observance, placed behind a thick wall of calculation. “But we all know mechs from The Outside are often false idols. Zeta Prime was as warm and inviting as this Prime- until he wasn’t.”

Optimus Prime rattled his vents, a short rev at the end. All optics snapped to him. “May I address the Court? Ah, I mean… Advisory?”

“You may speak, my Prime. You may have the Advisory’s attentions whenever you please.” Megatron motioned for Optimus to speak.

“I admit I have only been Prime for a short time, however I was not an elected Prime. I was bestowed the title by the Matrix of Leadership itself, a direct line to Primus. Furthermore,” he paused to survey the reactions. So far there were few. “I abhor Zeta’s rulings. I have spent much of my Primacy attempting to undo his damage. With my Magnus, we have made many strides towards healing Iacon, such as outlawing empurata and slavery, and I only hope to mend relations with the tribes as well.”

“It would be illogical to proceed without judgement from the Ends and the Thirteen,” Shockwave intoned. “My opinion regarding allowing religion to color our judgement is well known, however it seems sound to test the Prime’s connection to Primus, as you tested your own to Unicron, Lord Megatron.”

“Have respect, Outsider,” Starscream snapped from the other side of the table, wings vibrating. “There are many of us who do not believe, but we do not utter the Unmaker’s designation in polite company.”

“Speaking Unicron’s designation will not bring catastrophe- a mech of science such as yourself, Starscream, should know this.”

“I’ll show you a catastrophe, you-“

“Silence!” Megatron brought attention to himself with a bang of his armored fist on the table. Optimus watched the old datapads jolt over several mechanometers under the vibrations.

“Though your lack of understanding is permissible, Shockwave, remember that our faith is strong in this tribe, and speaking the Final End’s designation will not further your political future.” Subdued, Shockwave rotated his optic and nodded. “And you-“ a silver claw jabbed in Starscream’s direction, “There will be no more interruptions, unless you have real input.”

Optimus watched as fury bled from Starscream’s field, his wings striking a vicious V in his indignation. Regardless of his cowed pride, Starscream growled out, “Of course, master. I applaud your boundless patience.”

“If I am permitted to speak, oh glorious Lord Megatron, our emperor of destruction and truest-“

“Speak, Lugnut.” Optimus wondered when Lugnut had even arrived to the meeting.

Lugnut rattled his vents before speaking again, “Would it not be prudent to take the Vessel of the First End on a pilgrimage to Old Kaon, as you do once a vorn?”

Megatron motioned for Lugnut to continue after holding up a palm to silence the murmurs of the assembled mecha.

“Forgive my assumptions, my magnificent lord and master. I know that you only recently ventured six orbital cycles ago.” Lugnut clacked a claw, and with what seemed liked a nervous hitch he said, “Perhaps it would be a wise venture to make, with proof from our benevolent creators and unmakers alike.”

“If I may interject,” the broad and heavy femme spoke, her gaze cycling onto Optimus. “I will acknowledge our new chieftain as such when your bond is complete, Lord Megatron. However, regardless of his stance now, if you were to leave us, the both of you, then we would be left defenseless. As our chieftains we expect protection. Would we not be left vulnerable? I have no doubt the city mechs of this Prime’s home will search for him.”

“You are correct, Strika. However, I have much faith that my tribe, my loyal lieutenants and followers,” Megatron used the time to motion to all of the mecha around the table. It did not escape Optimus’s notice that he stopped short of motioning in the direction of Starscream. “Will operate this tribe as a truly cohesive force. Your command as my general is respected, Strika. It is abnormal to see you unsettled by our possible vulnerability. We are strong, and many.”

Strika did not respond with words, though she gave a curt nod and slight bow, keeping her gaze on Optimus. The Prime did not cow from her leering, but he admitted to the unsettled weight in his tank.

“As Air Commander,” Starscream said, his voice much louder than Strika’s had been, “I believe General Strika has wise words. Our forces of command together may be strong, but we have never fully confronted the cities. Their armies are unknown to us. In my opinion-“

“Cease, Starscream.” Megatron held up his servo in finality. “The decision will be made privately between myself and the Prime. Until then, the Advisory is adjourned.”

With a rap of his knuckles on the table, the mecha at the table bowed and dispersed into small groups to speak quietly amongst themselves.

Optimus watched them all, frozen in his place. In Iacon he had made a point of being the last to leave, to observe his fellow mecha in their retreat. It gave him a better idea of who got what they wanted, who had resigned themselves to a compromise, and who had lost the political battle.

Starscream was the one he noticed first and foremost. He scuttled around the edges of the advisory until he had rounded to the doors without bringing notice to himself. He slipped out without a word.

Optimus decided there would be other times to observe the others. He made for the door when Megatron looked away.

“Starscream,” he said, quiet through the dark halls. He watched the flier jerk into a stiff, defensive position as he realized he was being summoned. Optimus came close behind him, an arm's length away. “Back there-“

“Be quiet!” Starscream shrieked. His frame was trembling, his wings vibrating as he whipped around. His eyes shone with fury and disgust, and Optimus came to realize it was unbridled and aimed towards him. “Never has he silenced me like that. Never has he smothered my opinions. Megatron has never disregarded my opinion so openly, and it’s because of you!”

The Prime jerked back at the accusations, confusion filtering through his waxing field. “Me? But I-“

“Who do you think stood beside him before you came along, hm? Who do you think was his beloved berthwarmer? Who he spoke of futures with, sparklings, conquest? Do you think you’re special to him?” Starscream bared needle like dentae, eyes turned predatory. “Because I’m sure he thinks you’re special. I’m sure he’s even convinced himself.”

“Starscream-“ Optimus tried to intervene, to give Starscream his sympathy and his condolences that this had happened. Instead, Starscream howled over him.

“This is not just something new!” Starscream shrieked. He pointed a claw at Optimus’s throat. “You know who it was before me? Deadlock. And then Soundwave. And before him? A mech named Impactor. Before that? Who knows. But this is not something new for the glorious master of the decepticon tribe. You wait, Prime. You just wait.”

Optimus was silent. He watched Starscream heave, steam spilling from his vents as he shuddered with disgust and rage. He saw the raw hurt and the open anger from the seeker, his entire frame rattling with the whirlwind of emotion crashing down between them.  
Optimus pitied him.

Whether Starscream had intended to share the knowledge purposefully or not, Optimus saw it. He saw everything that had been taken from the flier: safety, stability, what had surely been a passionate relationship with more warmth than anything Megatron had shown towards him since Optimus had arrived. Megatron had not demoted him in the structure of the tribe, but socially Starscream had been devastated without chance of recovery. All because Optimus had become a part of the picture.

“Starscream,” he rumbled, taking a step back to assure Starscream wouldn’t misinterpret his movement as an attack. “I apologize.”

Starscream’s vents stuttered. He stumbled back, his thrusters tripping over ill placed bottled energon crystals. “You- you-“ Starscream was searching for his words, desperate for an accusation or an excuse. “You don’t know anything!”

“No. I don’t.” Optimus folded his servos and turned his gaze downward. “But I apologize, regardless. I recognize if I had not been where I was when Megatron approached the gates of Iacon then I would still be there. You would have remained at his side. Right now, I would be leading the late prayer.”

Optimus saw Starscream relax a minute amount. He saw the twitch of a wing as he curled his arm around his chassis, his body language opening up just barely. Optimus decided to go on, “About now I would have been wrapping up Prima’s Blessing and adjourning my congregation.”

Plating ruffled, Starscream chuffed, “I don’t believe.”

“That’s alright,” Optimus said, doing his best to reach out to Starscream. Diplomacy was one of his talents, he liked to think. “Primus may not be able to reach all of us, but He cares for you. For all of His creations.”

Starscream’s wings shot up, suddenly rigid. Optimus immediately knew he had not said the right thing. “If so, then why has he allowed Cybertron to fall to these deplorable states?”

Optimus shook his head. “I don’t know the answer to that. But there is an answer, that I am sure of.”

Before Starscream could respond, a silver hand curled over Optimus’s pauldron and the seeker shut his intake. “Starscream, you wouldn’t happen to be bothering my intended, now would you?”

“No,” Optimus said, turning into Megatron and blocking Starscream from his view. “I sought him out to ask him why he doesn’t believe.”

He had never been a good liar. In fact, as Orion he was notoriously bad at it. However, regardless of it, Megatron accepted his excuse. By the time he turned to look at Starscream the seeker had already skittered away, leaving him and Megatron alone in the low lit cavern.

“Walk with me, my Prime.” Megatron nudged Optimus along the path that lead to the throne room, and behind it their berth. “I’d like to discuss with you the pilgrimage.”

Optimus nodded as he fell into step with Megatron, “To Old Kaon. Which is… where?”

“Across the Sea Of Rust. Do not fear, it is the wet season now, unlike when I ventured last. The winds and the rust sands will not hinder our journey nearly as much as they would have in the dry season.” Megatron seemed stiff as he spoke.

Curious, Optimus asked, “What would we see if we went?”

“The ruins of a grand city.” It came out heavy, punctuated by a long exhale. Megatron held open the sheet that guarded their berth’s privacy for Optimus, letting it drop when he passed. “I was young when it fell, but I remember it. Ever since I have made the pilgrimage, many times over the many decavorn I have been chief, it is hard for me to see the rubble of my proud city.”

“You come from a city,” Optimus said, awe coloring his words. “I had no idea. I didn’t even know Kaon had been a city.”

“Not in the sense you think.” Megatron lowered himself to the berth, waiting for Optimus to join him. When he did, Megatron reached for his servo, clasping it like a lifeline. “It was a massive gathering of mechs, constant and lively. It was like a bazaar, rather than a city. Mechs did not have permanent homes there, though many kept their tents there near constantly. There were always mechs there to sell their goods, to trade or to hone their skills of battle. It was a beautiful place to be.”

“How did it fall?”

Megatron’s claws fluttered before grasping Optimus’s servo once more. “A take for another time. Have you decided? Would you join me on a pilgrimage?”

Optimus pondered for a moment. It would be a reprieve from the tribe that he was still learning about, it would be a possibility of escape- though that was very low on his list of priorities- and it would ultimately be a religious experience he’d not yet had.

“I would like to join you,” Optimus said, then adding, “Not only for myself, but for the tribe, and hopefully my own people.”

Megatron nodded, tugging Optimus down onto his side on the berth. “I am blessed to have you, my Prime.” And sealed the words with a kiss. 


	7. Brewing storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus and Megatron tend to their budding relationship. Sentinel makes an executive decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since being thrust into an airport and several hour delays on my return flight, I have no excuse for not working on something, so here you go. This is very much a bridge chapter, so it’s a little shorter than i might like. The pilgrimage will take place next chapter.

That dark cycle, Optimus’ defrag was plagued with bursts of energy, static, intermittent fluxes of frequencies stemming from his chest any time he slipped too deeply into recharge. He blamed how little he had fueled since taking up hostel in Megatron’s berth.

The longer he dozed the clearer his visions became. What had begun as unsteady channels that spat out static soon became images, subtle and overenhanced. Optimus reached out with his field, recognizing the Matrix’s fickle EMF. It shifted and molded around his own, elusive to give not but just the barest taste of its true meanings. He followed its teasing path, down into the spiritual depths of its physical shell.

Primus’ tendrils reached him even from the furthest reaches of the church, his spark swelling with the light his creator fed him. Optimus shuddered, a stable wave of energy taking him over and filling him with a righteous force.

_All will become one._

He saw the sliver of a future; his Magnus behind a desk as Megatron leaned over, a gaze fierce and determined as he traced the lines of the holomap of Iacon with delicate clawtips. Even without his own presence in the vision it was broadcasted loud and clear.

As the vision faded and Optimus sunk deeper into his defrag, he was slow to notice darkness seeping around the static edges like a virus spreading through his neural net, file by file. The darkness was ever shifting, without pause. It soaked into him like paint, clinging and clouding his insight until there was oily darkness seeping through him. Optimus gasped, his vents stuttering open, only to be filled with what could only be described as liquid pitch. It left him groggy and woozy, as if the fuel within him had curdled.

The Prime arose with a start, his fans running and his vents thrown open wide. His plating was running hot, fuel pump working tirelessly to supply pressure to his hydraulics. He stared up into the dark of the ceiling. It was a comforting dark, soft and grey, peppered with energy crystals that made better decoration than snacks.

Optimus jerked back as a clawed servo rested on his side, talons dipping into sensitive seams. He looked to Megatron with fading panic, his fuel pump slowly adjusting to a regular pace. “Megatron…”

“Optimus,” Megatron rumbled in response. “It is still dark.”

“Primus was reaching out to me,” Optimus announced, no preamble. “I saw you, with Ultra Magnus. I’m not sure what was being done or why, but I saw you together, speaking. Planning.”

Megatron nodded as he pushed himself up on his arm, watching Optimus’s plating rattle. His fans were still roaring, furious in their attempt to cool him. “You’re overheating.”

Optimus was all too aware of the palm sliding over his knee, up his thigh and pressing over his internal cables in a gesture of intimacy. Every twitch was felt deep in his protoform. He grasped the hand on his thigh, clutched tight in his own. He squeezed as he vented out, long and slow. “It was dark.”

“In your vision?”

“No, in…” Optimus trailed off, distracted as he thought of the pervasive, oily blackness that had drowned him. It felt as if he were being swallowed once more, as if the vision of it were renewed by only mentioning it. “I felt it in my spark, in the Matrix. It was so dark I couldn’t focus on the light.”

Megatron stilled, his servos returning to his frame. “You felt him.”

Optimus was silent as the mutual realization spread between them. His engine stuttered briefly as he felt that darkness bloom again. He shuddered, quiet, “The Unmaker.”

A comforting touch returned to Optimus’s frame. His plating rattled, grasping for Megatron’s hand and turning into him for comfort. “Is this what you feel? The burden of the Unmaker? Do you feel this weight within your spark?”

“I have said carrying the Unmaker can be a burden in and of itself,” rumbled Megatron. He stroked Optimus’s side, petting his chrome and the tense cables in the gaps of his plating. “The darkness is not impenetrable. It can be weathered. It is a force of will, a test of endurance. To wade through the darkness of the Unmaker and to come out the other side is a great test of one’s power.”

“No one could come out of that darkness whole,” Optimus blurted. He reached with both hands for Megatron’s faceplates, cupping him and guiding his gaze. He saw the weariness in Megatron’s optics, and knew. Knew that it was more than just long night cycles, much needed defrags. Optimus knew that weariness in his struts, deep in his spark, understood the sleepless nights Megatron faced with the everpresent titan in his chest.

Before he could stop to think, before he could convince himself it was a bad idea, Optimus kissed him.  
Though surprised, Megatron kissed back, bore down on Optimus like a weight. He surged forward into Optimus’s frame, palms sliding over him, caressing his many curves. He pressed his pelvic panel against Optimus’s thigh, a telling heat radiating from him.

“My own recharge fluxes were not nearly as wholesome,” Megatron purred, his engine rumbling with a warmth Optimus recognized well now. “I had you, like this,” his words were breathless as he kissed down to Optimus’s neck cords, giving his cables a nibble. “Spread out beneath me, warm and open…”

Optimus barely registered his own actions as his panel slid aside at the word “open.” His cheeks flushed blue, but reached out with his servos to guide Megatron’s. “What next?”

“You allowed me to put my intake to you.” Megatron punctuated his words with a suck against Optimus’s windshield. “And I pleasured you until you begged me for release from my worship, until you could only cry out from the sensation I thrust upon you.” With every word Megatron moved down, laving special attention on Optimus’s waist, the less plated part of him less sensitive, but more easily accessible. He dipped his glossa between cables, his thumbs pressed into the wide gaps between Optimus’s thighs and hips.

“Megatron,” Optimus gasped out, one servo covering his intake. It was pushed away, one claw tracing his derma. “Please, I have been celibate far too long for this…”

“I intend to make my dream a reality,” Megatron said, scraping his claws down Optimus’s sides. The sparks had Optimus writhing, having no experience to compare it to. “And when you finally overloaded under my glossa you cried for me- you screamed my designation until your vocalizer popped. I want to hear you cry for me, I want you to give me your pleasure.”

Optimus could feel the dream coming to life in front of him. He arched into Megatron’s mouth, desperate for that delicious slide of glossa against metal. “Please,” he begged, gripping Megatron’s pauldrons, the spikes easily acting as a way to steer the chieftain. His cord was already pushing out of its housing, the tip swollen and the soft blue biolights pulsing.

Megatron did not tease Optimus further. He licked from the base of his spike to the tip, where electricity sparked against Megatron’s glossa. Optimus cried out, back bowing as the charge crackled out of him to ground in Megatron. “Oh, please, please, don’t tease me. I won’t make it like this,” he begged, mouth open wide with every suck and kiss against the delicate metal of his spike.

The warmth of charge crackled along Optimus’s frame like a liquid, oozing between his plates and cables, lapping at the protometal deep beneath. Electricity licked around Megatron’s helm between his thighs, the chieftain’s mouth finally, _finally_ lowering onto his spike. An explosion of sparks flew from Optimus’s hip joint where the heat of his arousal had caused the mesh blankets to combust.

Megaton wasn’t bothered by the flame, one hand reaching in nonchalance to pat down the stray fire. Personally, Optimus had never interfaced before where the berth covers caught fire, but Megatron didn’t even bat an optic. Instead he swallowed Optimus down further, until his olfactive sensor rested against the Prime’s pelvic plating.

Optimus broke under Megatron’s tongue, the tight suction around his spike leaving him trembling. The chieftain was needling away at his resolve usinga weak spot he hadn’t known he had. Never before had he been a subject to such an erotic display, his partner between his thighs, tongue lavishing him in worship. The audacity to leave him trembling. Every time Megatron rose up off his spike Optimus was afraid he would finally arise and claim to be finished, and every time Megatron would dive right back down.

Legs draped over Megatron’s pauldrons, strong silver thighs clenching on either side of the chieftain’s head. Optimus had his servos on Megatron’s helm, pushing him down with fervor. He barely heard himself begging, “Please, please, by Primus’s word, I beg of you, let me come-“

And as he said it Megatron buried himself within Optimus’s thighs, spike so deep down his intake that Optimus thought he felt the chieftain choke. The tension of charge was broken, waves of energy released from his chest as he overloaded, plating rattling with every shake of intensity. Optimus clenched his thighs around Megatron, legs crossing behind his helm.

When the waves of overload seeped out of his frame, rolling out of him until there was nothing left, he went limp. Optimus groaned, his spike twitching as Megatron milked every last wayward strand of pleasure from him. The cold air struck his slick spike far sooner than he would have liked, leaving him jarred and disoriented. He quietly tucked his spike away, but didn’t cover his valve. He wasn’t sure if they were done, or what Megatron might want in return. Optimus shivered at the very thought he would be asked to return the favor. Not from fear, by any means; it was excitement that trembled through his fuel lines.

“Tasting your pleasure is akin to basking in the presence of the Maker himself.” Megatron laid a kiss along Optimus’s abdomen, a single claw stroking down the Prime’s thigh. Optimus didn’t miss the glint in his optic, or the coy grin in front of his fangs. “And my thirst has not yet been quenched.”

* * *

Though he had been thoroughly debauched and exhausted, Optimus didn’t rest long. He sat up in their shared berth, stealing glances over his shoulders at Megatron’s sleeping form. Every gentle vent was a blessing to feel the tickle of.

“You’re thinking,” Megatron rumbled from where he lay. He stretched out his arms before grasping for Optimus’s servo. “I can hear your unrest.”

Optimus pulled his hand away, unsure of how he felt about touching the chieftain at that exact moment. Turmoil of his precarious position rolled in his tanks, almost as if he were being punished for his complacency at Megatron’s servos.

“I’m not sure how to reconcile my place in this… relationship,” Optimus admitted, servos clasped in his lap as if he were confessing a sin. “I’m unsure of my role, and how I will make peace with Primus.”

“Not everything is about making peace with our Creator.”

Optimus felt a twinge of guilt clench his spark. If this were a temptation from Unicron, which ironically was most likely true, he would be on the verge of failing the test. Every word Megatron spelled out was like an invitation to give in to his vices. “I can’t believe that.”

Megatron leaned into Optimus’s frame, a kiss lingering on his pauldron. “But it isn’t. Primus gave us the gift of life, the gift of creation. We can use that gift or we can squander it.”

Optimus jerked away, twisting his waist to meet Megatron’s gaze. “Squander it? Is that what you think of my faith?”

And Megatron laughed. Disquiet and resentment welled up in Optimus’s spark. If Megatron dared to mock his faith, his very function, they had more to think about in regards to their so called bonding.

“Your life of faith isn’t squandering,” Megatron said, backpedaling as he recognized Optimus’s hurt field. “Rather, I think the Ends would encourage us to live our functioning in other ways. There is more than enough room for clergy, but there is also always more space for the mecha who aim to learn and grow from their experiences. There will never be too many sparks who aim to fulfil their vorns with the new and the now.”

Megatron punctuated his words with a dry, quick kiss against Optimus’s derma. He clenched his jaw, ignoring how he felt Megatron was right. He nodded along, as the barest minimum acknowledgement.

“Your functioning exists now, Prime,” Megatron insisted, “This next orn? Perhaps not. But we know now that we live. We can enjoy these moments between us before we cease.”

Optimus didn’t want to live fast and brutal, and that’s exactly what he felt Megatron was trying to convey to him. He wanted to enjoy the fine details of his existence, without fear that tomorrow could be his last orn alive.

A flash of the pneuma lions that Soundwave had shown him came to the forefront of his processor. He wanted to be able to sit and watch the pneuma lions care for their cubs, drink from the energon watering holes, tussle with their pride. Optimus wanted to be able to see the ways of their planet without fearing it, or the other mecha around him. He wanted to be able to dwell on the beauty he had seen.

“I don’t want to always live in the now, Megatron.” Optimus wondered if this was the first time he had addressed the chieftain so casually. “Sometimes I’d like to dwell in the past, the memories of good orns. I want to plan for the future, more than just when my next meal will come. Because I have faith that it will come.”

Megatron cocked his helm, and he nodded along with Optimus’s words. “I understand. But you must also make an effort to understand. We are beasts made from our circumstances. You have always been able to know when your next fuel will arrive to you, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps that would change one day. If you no longer had access to available fuel you would not be concerned with what came after your next meal because you don’t know when that would be.” Megatron leaned forward, his scarred lips coming a needle’s breadth away from Optimus’s. “When the energon runs freely we will plan for the future, we will expand. The tribe will grow and splinter, and so on. The pattern will continue. It is a brutal life, Optimus, but it is not without its beauties.”

“It doesn’t have to be brutal,” Optimus insisted.

“I disagree.” Megatron bunted Optimus’s helm with his own, using the distraction to kiss the Prime. “If I did not know the brutalities I have experienced I would be unable to recognize the beauty of this tenderness.”

Optimus vented out in a rush of air, his palm coming up against Megatron’s chest out of reflex. He found himself kissing the mech back anyway. “I don’t think we must suffer hardship to understand tenderness.”

“Perhaps not. But I do know that because of the battles I have seen, the treachery and the wrath I have endured… I know that my appreciation of this,” Megatron punctuated his words by holding Optimus’s jaw still for another kiss, “Is much more than when I was young and my energon ran hot. Because of learning to live in the now I know that this moment is precious.”

Optimus could almost imagine a label like “romantic” being appropriate for the chieftain. He managed a smile, before he let it fade. “I suppose I see what you mean, yes. However,” he said before Megatron could think he had completely won, “I still do not think there must be a life of hardship for these moments to be truly appreciated.”

“Then perhaps I could change your mind in much more _tender_ terms, Prime,” Megatron growled, smirking as he descended Optimus’s frame, pressing his way between his legs.

Optimus straightened himself, optics focusing on Megatron with a new fierceness. “Fine, then,” he said, “But I think you will find I am quite resistant to interrogation.”

* * *

“Worthless! You’re all worthless! All of you functionless drones had better scour the streets, the sands, the sewers, _everywhere_  for those two!” Sentinel pounded at the table to punctuate his glyphs, his screams echoing in his office. The scouts who had gathered, along with a few office security mecha, cringed away from the acting Magnus’s shrieking.

Their fear mattered not to Sentinel, who continued his ranting, “Two mecha, one a popular public figure, and a barbarian managed to slip out of Iacon, beyond impenetrable walls under constant surveillance, and _not a single spark saw them?”_

Before the scouts could respond, Sentinel ordered them, “What the slag are you waiting for? Go look for them! Out, get out! I don’t want to see your frelling faceplates until Surgeon General Ratchet and the barbarian _Deadlock_ are found!”

Sentinel sent the scouts scurrying and the security mecha scrambling to escape his ire. He slammed the door to his office shut before leaning against it, palms outstretched. He hung his helm against his chest plate, vents shuddering out of him in waves, and finally made the move to turn back to his desk.

Only to find someone sitting at it.

The exclamation that escaped his vocalizer was definitely not high pitched, or at all a scream. Of course it wasn’t, he was the Magnus! Such an accusation was punishable by treason, naturally.

“You!” he sputtered, the mech in his seat reclining back with raised optic ridges. His blue visor gleamed above his smile, which torqued Sentinel off even more. “You sneaky turborat! How dare- how could- you think you can avoid me for as long as I’ve held office and then just- what are you doing here?” Sentinel slapped his palms on the surface of his desk, staring down the mech. He could barely contain the fury spiraling through his fuel pump.

“Whoa, whoa, mech,” the mech said. He held up his servos, as if to show Sentinel he was I unarmed. “Ain’t nobody called for tha’ kinda language.”

Sentinel grit his denta. He straightened himself before saying, “Special Operative Commander Jazz, what do I owe this visit to? And why haven’t I been able to reach you?”

“Radio silence, as advised for my undercover missions. You understand, don’tcha, mech? You and me got a history, SP, you know how I work.” Jazz rolled to his pedes in one fluid motion, circling around Sentinel like a prowling nitrotiger.

“I have questions for you, Commander.” Sentinel clenched his fists as Jazz disappeared from his line of sight. “Like how you snuck into a room with one entrance without detection.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Jazz said, waving a finger at Sentinel as he came around the other side of the acting Magnus. “One door ain’t the same as one entrance. That cleared up, ain’t nobody that can find me if I don’t wanna be found. Listen, SP, I got questions of m’own. Le’s make this a quid pro quo. And you just went first.”

“That is Sentinel _Magnus_ to you, you ungrateful cur!” Sentinel whipped around to face the spy, only to be met with empty air.  
He could feel Jazz behind him before he heard him.

“Sentinel Major, acting Magnus, can ya tell me why Optimus Prime’s security detail was derailed onto sentry duty pertaining to the peaceful approach of the nomadic mecha?” Jazz was sitting at the desk again, one leg crossed over the other.

Sentinel counted back from ten before saying, “As you said, it was a peaceful approach. Optimus Prime insisted he continue without security.”

“And ya listened to ‘im? Ya ever heard OP talk? Mech ain’t got a single self preservative strut in his frame.”

“And how am I supposed to deny the Prime his wishes?” Sentinel snapped.

“Ya hold equal rank on ‘im, don’tcha? Coulda pulled it. Tha’ counts to yer question, by the way.” Before Sentinel could protest Jazz asked,

“Now tell me, how’dya think two mechs slip outta Iacon, completely unnoticed?”

Dentae clenched, Sentinel said, “You tell me.”

Jazz’s smile didn’t make Sentinel feel better. It never had. “Ya think any bot goes in’r’out without me hearin’ about it? I’m askin’ ya how ya _think_ they left.”

“Bribery,” Sentinel said, “Possibly treason. That barbarian could have smuggled them out to the nearest barbarian tribe-“

“Nearest barbarian tribe is our neighbors babysittin’ OP.” Jazz kicked his feet up onto the desk and folded his servos in his lap. It made Sentinel’s energon boil. First he invaded his office, then patronized him, now Jazz was acting like he owned the place.

“Babysitting? The Lord Prime has been _kidnapped_ and you’re calling it babysitting!”

Jazz shrugged, pauldrons smoothing back down rapidly to a relaxed state. He was lazily leaning back, feet soon finding the desk to rest on. “OP ain’t in any danger. Mech’s got more chance’a worryin’ ‘imself to deactivation.”

“And how do _you_ know that?” Sentinel was reaching the end of his rope. He had half a mind to put an end to this game.

“Jazz is privy to all knowledge within Spec Ops.” Sentinel jerked back as another mech materialized beside Jazz, standing firm and at attention. His frame was sleek, aerodynamic, definitely made for speed. Through that speed, Sentinel could also see delicacy.

“Special Agent Mirage. How kind of you to join us,” Sentinel said through gritted dentae. “How much of this conversation have you heard?”

“I have heard every conversation you’ve had since ascending to the rank of Acting Magnus.” Mirage held out a datachip to Jazz, who tucked it away in his subspace. “Many of your words are treasonous, if not downright tyranny. You should be careful, Sentinel. You never know who’s listening.”

“‘Raj, don’t tease the mech. Y’know ‘e’s real paranoid.” Jazz rolled to his pedes, servos behind his back. “Now listen real close, SP. Our Lord Prime’s in the middle of somethin’ real important. We could be talkin’ bout lastin’ peace ‘tween us’n the ‘Cons. We don’t gotta worry ‘bout ‘im. I got two mecha stationed in the tribe. They been tellin’ me OP is makin’ real _friends_ with their chief.”

“It is rude to speak of Our Lord Prime’s inner turmoil so lightly,” Mirage said, cocking his head towards Jazz. “Our Lord Prime is dealing very differently with this burden than your jokes reflect.”

“Will one of you tell me how the Surgeon General and that frelling barbarian escaped?” Sentinel exclaimed, his patience run too thin. He had stretched how far he was willing to go way too far.

“What’re ya gonna do with tha’ info?”

“What I do with anything is none of your business!”

Jazz clicked his glossa, rising to his pedes. Sentinel could feel the massive shift from light hearted mind games to something much darker.

“Now tha’s where yer wrong, mech. Everything is my business.” Jazz crossed the space between them, swerving around Sentinel at the last possible moment. “It’s m’job to know everything, see everything, hear everything, and decide what t’do ‘bout it. May not always be m’own optics or m’own audials, but le’s get it straight, SP.”

Sentinel tensed, looking over his pauldron instead of turning. Jazz was gone. So was Mirage.

And then he was flat on his back, staring up at Jazz. The commander pressed a heel into his chest, grinding on his spark cover. “I answer t’ _one_ mech, and you ain’t him. Only other mech’s opinions I’d give half a klik’s time is out swappin’ paint for the good o’ Cybertron.”

Rage boiled over in Sentinel. Before he could stop himself, he shouted, “Ultra Magnus is deactivated! You had better just get used to it! He took massive damage to his processor, his spark is barely warm! Nobody is going to listen to a dead mech, and a dead mech can’t give orders! You’re all delusional for-”

Sentinel fell silent as a blade narrowly missed his optic, embedded in the surface beneath him.

“I don’t take very kindly to liars, SP. Ya should know that ‘bout me by now.” Jazz retrieved his weapon and lifted his heel off of Sentinel’s chest. “Now, me’n ‘Raj are gonna disappear. I don’t wanna hear any more nasty rumors ‘bout a war party, got it?”

Sentinel swallowed the lubricant in his intake, sufficiently cowed. “Got it.”

Sentinel shuttered his optics. He waited, listening to the barely-there shuffling of pedes before he opened them again. He vented in deep before he stood, and immediately commed his assistant. [Cliffjumper, have my office checked for bugs. Any vents or windows are to be sealed. And that war party? Expedite their preparation. I want them deployed before the orn is finished.


	8. Tides of change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pilgrimage takes its dues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for their support and encouragement through slow updates. I am feeling much more motivated, and am excited to update and write as the plot speeds up. You’ll also notice a new tag has been added. That starts now. As always, comments are appreciated.

The start of their pilgrimage had not been terribly exciting. Their send off had been a small meeting of only a few of the Advisory. Thunderhoof had been brought from the stable, already packed with rations. Megatron had clapped his palm against Strika’s in a firm grip, that they consummated with a resounding clang of their chest armor, and then Optimus and Megatron both mounted the titanium-moose. Several joor into their trip, Optimus realized that the only reason it could be called a religious pilgrimage was for the sake of making it sound less boring.

“How long does it take to get to Old Kaon?” he asked, grunting as Thunderhoof jerked to the left to avoid something last minute.

“About four orn. It is a long journey, and we will stop minimally. I suggest you get used to riding.” Megatron was more stoic than he’d been with Optimus ever before, the tessellation of his back plating tense and uncomfortable.

“You’re nervous,” Optimus murmured. It unnerved him to see Megatron out of his comfort zone. “I’d like to know why. Are we in danger?”

“Not imminently, no.”

Optimus reached around Megatron’s middle to grasp the servo holding Thunderhoof’s reins. Megatron’s hand twitched beneath his, letting Optimus feel the anxiety that rumbled beneath the surface. “Then why do you tremble?”

Silence took hold of them, and Optimus felt Megatron tense under his servos. He didn’t push him, instead waiting for the chieftain to come up with his own words. There was a heady silence between them, almost too thick for Optimus to swallow.

“I fear the resolution of this pilgrimage.” Megatron looped the reins of Thunderhoof a little tighter around his fist.

“Why?” Optimus was genuinely curious about Megatron’s concerns. Communing with Primus was not new to him, he had done it continuously with the Matrix residing in his frame. He had grown accustomed to sudden or unprecedented visions, and he was concerned why Megatron feared a planned experience. Was it the intensity?

Megatron didn’t speak for a while, before he pulled the reins and had Thunderhoof come to a halt. Optimus still hadn’t received an answer. “We’ll break here.” He motioned to a patch of silver alloy grass not far from them, with several crystalline trees further beyond it. He nudged Optimus, and helped them to both dismount the titanium moose. “There, we may find mechanimals to hunt, or perhaps an oil pool. If we’re lucky we can dig up energon crystals to steep.”

“Megatron-“

“If we walk from here we may save Thunderhoof the exhaustion.”

“Please, speak to m-“

“It won’t do for us to tire my steed, if we wish to return from Old Ka-“

“Megatron!” Optimus snatched Megatron’s arm before he could put physical distance between them. They stood there for a long moment, Megatron’s fist clenching in Optimus’s grip. They were silent, until Megatron broke their eye contact.

“I fear the resolution because there is a possibility I was wrong.” Megatron pulled his arm away, only prompting Optimus to move closer. Distance was not what they needed. “I fear that perhaps I have taken you when the right choice was to delay my own gratification, and that I played my servo too soon.”

“That is all?” Optimus relinquished his grip and crossed his arms. “You have doubts. It is natural. Even I, who communes with Primus as my function, have doubts of His judgements and decisions.”

Watching as the chieftain clenched his jaw, sharp dentae scraping together, Optimus grasped his hand. “Megatron,” he said, quieter than before. His other servo rested upon Megatron’s spark, his palm soaking in the heat of his pulses. “We shall ascend from Old Kaon with new optics.” The words began to flow from him easily, the remembrance of his faith fitting into voice. “But he said to me, my grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Optimus squeezed Megatron’s hand, giving him an encouraging smile. “Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Primus’ power may rest on me. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

Megatron sagged, as if a weight had been removed. He finally met Optimus’s gaze with his own somber one. “What is that?”

“The book of Primus.” Optimus put distance between them, only to guide Megatron by his hand towards the small oasis. “Your doubt is your weakness, Megatron, but weakness is not without strength. They are siblings, not rivals. We pull strength from our weakness, and the strengths that come from weakness are more formidable than any other.”

Megatron was quiet. Optimus let him have his thoughts and his silence as they guided Thunderhoof to the oasis. His servo in the grasp of Megatron’s, Optimus was glad to feel a squeeze. He reciprocated, his field enveloping Megatron with all the comfort he could give.

Handling the doubts of faith and the volatile emotions that came with it were familiar, they were what he knew how to handle. Optimus spent much of his time as Prime speaking with the common folk, assuring them their faith was still true even in the face of doubt. It felt natural to return to his element, to bring joy surging back in the recesses of darkness.

Without even thinking, as they reached the cover of the crystalline trees, Optimus kissed Megatron.

Whatever had come over him, Optimus had no idea. Their kisses turned harsh and feverish; Megatron’s claws scraped his sides and pawed at his panel, igniting sensors in his wake. Optimus gasped as his back met the rough bark of a crystal tree, surely leaving streaks of his paint. Refusing to be bested; Optimus shoved Megatron back, making quick work of straddling his waist.

A fire burned in Optimus’s lower circuits, his panel transforming away without another thought. Megatron bucked to meet him, his panel sliding aside in tune to Optimus’s mewling. The heated rush that swept through the Prime’s vents was intoxicating, boiling him from the inside.

Megatron hiked a leg up, grinding his bare hardware against Optimus’s, their valves touching briefly in a slide of lubricant. The Prime gasped, his spike pressuring sluggishly with every gentle thrust. Optimus’s spike stood proud between them, the blue biolights along the sides blinking with fervor.

Optimus crowed as Megatron shifted hips and pressurized his spike directly into his valve. Megatron’s designation crossed his derma more than once as he rolled his hips along the chieftain’s cord, his own twitching with intense pleasure. Optimus rutted himself against Megatron’s spike with renewed vigor, his optics flashing white as Megatron spiked him deep.

They rolled, leaving Optimus beneath Megatron for only a moment before Optimus flipped them right over again. He pressed Megatron down, fists curling around his forearms. He held Megatron down as he rode him, helm tossed back in the passion of the moment. Optimus realized rather belated that they were far from quiet, and that Thunderhoof had wandered away.

The fuzzy queries of their situation were secondary to the pressure in his valve. Optimus mewled his pleasure, relentless in his grinding. The deafening clangs that echoed around them filled Optimus with a strange amount of excitement, their lovemaking bare to the world.

“Optimus!” Megatron’s cries of pleasure drove the Prime to an overload, his valve convulsing and constricting the spike within him. Megatron’s spike twitched, practically throbbing, Optimus’s only indication of the chieftain’s orgasm.

In the throes of their passion, Optimus registered the warm light of a spark breathing against his frame. He gasped out as Megatron bucked his softening spike up into him, staring down at the purple spark, swollen and thrashing with life. Optimus felt the seams of his chest parting.

He knew he shouldn’t. He knew it was the last defense he had, should he return to the city. Even if he knew, even if he was hesitant, Optimus surged forward, meeting Megatron’s spark in his resolution.

Everything went white, and Optimus was sure he heard the Matrix whispering to him.

As they laid there, Optimus rolling to the side to stare up at the purple sky, he felt numb to the elements. “That was…” he trailed off, his words failing him. The passion that had electrified their union was fading, leaving Optimus soiled and cold. Their fluids pooled between his thighs, giving him a dirty, sticky feeling. His chest ached, his spark throbbing.

“It was amazing,” Megatron rumbled, reaching a servo to lay across Optimus’s arm. He stroked his tight plating with a single claw, turning his helm to meet Optimus’s optics. “I feel… cleansed, really.”

“At least one of us does.” Optimus closed his legs, sliding his panel shut despite the clammy feeling it left between his thighs. “I feel rather debauched.”

Megatron laughed, and Optimus pulled his hand away, though it was weak retaliation. Megatron rolled onto his side to pull Optimus flush against his frame, their derma meeting in something softer, gentler than what had occurred between them. Even the touching of their sparks had been hurried, abrasive.

“It is difficult for me to accept weakness in myself.” The words Megatron spoke were quiet, unsure. Optimus realized he was baring himself, opening his spark to the Prime. “As chieftain I must be strong for my tribe, as a tribemech I was taught to show no weakness. To appear strong and collected. I must thrive in conflict and ascend victory.”

Optimus wasn't sure what to make of Megatron’s confession. He managed a smile, though it felt bitter and distracted. He placed a servo on his chest, feeling the thrums of his aching spark against his windshield. “I do not think you weak,” he murmured, “Having weaknesses… it makes you mortal.”

They laid there, gazing up at the open sky. Optimus wasn’t sure what to make of the peace between them in those kliks. He glanced at Megatron, who had shuttered his optics, his fans churching and his biolights buzzing with energy.

“You seem subdued, my Prime.” Optimus met Megatron’s sharp optics, finally coming together.

“I… feel subdued.” The Prime turned into Megatron’s grasp, finding comfort in the chieftain’s firm hold. “I have never shared sparks before.”

“I am honored.” Megatron bunted his helm against Optimus’s, one hand coming up to his audial ring and tweaking his fin. “Your spark is warm, and bright. You enveloped me with comfort and safety, you gave without thought of receiving. I admit, I was… selfish. I took that warmth, greedily.”

Optics back to the sky, Optimus felt the throb of his hidden spark. He opened his vents, optics shuttered as he sifted through the memories of the merge. He felt open, vulnerable. The Prime pushed his field out, encompassing Megatron’s frame, and stroked his windshield. The warmth there was foreign, like his spark held a new weight. There was no sparkbond, not with such a shallow merge, but something felt different. Something had changed.

Optimus decided to keep the feelings to himself.

* * *

“This is it.” Megatron steered Thunderhoof to the side before dismounting. They stood before a monument, tall and imposing, with what looked like the ruins of small housings behind it. The ruins were meager, superficial. It looked like nothing more than a dead town to Optimus.

“We must take care upon descending,” Megatron rumbled, pulling several subspace pockets from Thunderhoof’s pack. “We will take our energon stores and leave Thunderhoof to roam. He will not stray far, and we will find him upon our leaving.”

Optimus stared at the monolith before them, stretching into the sky. When they had been approaching it he had wondered what histories and writings there may be about the structure. Some spark had to have written about it, someone must have outlined it. There was a history behind the structure, and Optimus felt ill prepared for it.

“I do not feel welcome here,” he murmured, the Matrix uncharacteristically silent within him. There was no hum of life, no presence. His frame felt void of the comfort of Primus’s light that he had become so accustomed to carrying.

“We call this place The Wild Dark,” Megatron rumbled. He slid a palm across the edge of the monolith, and light followed his touch. Megatron’s servo lead a path through the stone, until Optimus could see the outline of a doorway.

Megatron stepped back as the massive stanchion rattled and whirred, transformation sequence slow and grinding. As the door slid apart, Optimus stared into the darkness within, dread filling him.

That oily blackness that couldn’t be penetrated, deep and unforgiving. It was the same pitch that had drowned him in his dream.

“We must descend.” Megatron reached into one of the subspace pockets and pulled a canteen of energon. He held it out to Optimus. “It is recommended that you be fully fueled. To commune with the Ends, you must be full of Primus’s lifeblood.”

Optimus didn’t like the sound of that, didn’t like any of this. He felt as if he were being lead into a trap, like an electro lamb to slaughter. “I do not like this, Megatron.”

Megatron only nodded, barely acknowledging Optimus’s premonitions. “There is no danger, Optimus. Only that of your own doubt.” With that, he held out the energon with more force. When Optimus finally took it, he produced his own canteen and drank long and deep.

Optimus didn’t fail to notice the purple glow of Megatron’s spark glow brighter, and his eyes to catch a hint of the dark energon’s hue.

Megatron offered his servo. Optimus looked to it first, and then Megatron’s glowing optics. He finally glanced into the darkness, knowing that whatever awaited him there was nothing good. And still he took Megatron’s servo.

As they entered the monolith, Optimus felt the light from the entrance fading. He twitched, about to glance over his shoulder, when Megatron said, “Don’t look back. It is bad luck.”

They waded through the darkness, down crumbling steps that Optimus feared may give out at any point. “How far?”

Megatron shrugged, holding Optimus’s hand tighter. “It’s different every time.”

The darkness enveloping them was quiet. So quiet that Optimus could hear the creaking of his hydraulics, the energon rushing in his audials. He could hear his fuel pump stuttering in his frame. Everything around him was tight and close against him, like if he moved he would immediately be stopped by the walls of the stanchion. But the darkness was open. The pitch black view was unblocked and wide, as if inviting them further.

And then Megatron stopped.

Optimus nearly plummeted down the steps as Megatron halted, his grip on the Prime slipping. The only source of light were their biolights, Megatron’s purple hues blinking haphazardly.

“Megatron? Are you-“

“It’s there. We’re almost there.”

Optimus looked ahead, groping for Megatron’s servo, or his leg, anything to hold onto. He grasped at nothing. “Megatron?”

When he looked up, Megatron was walking away, and then encased in blackness.

* * *

Stumbling down the steps alone had been an experience Optimus didn’t want to repeat. He had resigned himself to feeling along the wall, using only his natural lights to find his way. He had been walking for too long, his struts ached and his pedes were sore from tripping one too many times.

As he was nearing the end of his strength, he saw it. The light was faint, soft and unintrusive. As he went on walking, Optimus saw the glow grow brighter, until he could see an end to the darkness. He was finally reaching the light.

The stairs petered out to a hall, one with carvings and seams all along the walls. As he touched them, the lines flowed blue and purple, meeting in intricate designs. Optimus used the light to guide him, until finally his path opened into a grand hall.

In the hall, chairs lined the sides, broken and crumbling, all leading to the altar at the head of the room. Light poured from the energon pool there, glistening and bubbling with life. As he approached, Optimus felt a tingling in his spark, the Matrix stirring.

He heard it sing, humming to a tune that only Primus knew. Optimus gasped as he felt the dwelling comfort return full force, the light filling him. He was no longer alone and isolated, like he had been separated from Primus’s light. He finally felt as if he could relax.

Optimus approached the pool of energon, looking up into the carved image behind it. It’s deeply woven chips and dents did nothing to denounce its beauty, which struck Optimus to his core. He knew, looking up into the art of their ancestors, that he was looking upon a gift from Primus.

Optimus fell to his knees, his gaze dropping to the pool below the carving. As he leaned forward, his servos trembling too much to hold the edge, he witnessed tiny sparks floating in the energon, life and light bubbling forth from their flickering.

“The Well of All Sparks.” Optimus trembled at the mere thought that he was allowed in the presence of their source of life. He placed a hand along the seam of his windshield, and slowly let it part to reveal the Matrix of Leadership, as well as his spark, to let the light of Matrix meet the light of the Well. The luminescence grew, flowing together.

At once there was a flurry of emotion filling him, flooding his spark. Joy and delight surrounded him, Optimus crying out in surprise as his optics whited out. There was excitement in Primus’ energy- because Primus was all this could be- and a depth Optimus wasn’t sure how to read.

_Little Spark..._

Optimus clutched at his spark, framing it with his servo as it was stroked from the inside. “Primus,” he bit out, clenching his jaw. The feeling of having Primus within his frame, so much more than just the Matrix, was causing alerts and warnings to appear on his HUD.

 _Strong spark, pure spark, full of compassion_.

The admission from his god had cleaner fluid striping Optimus’s cheeks, his optics still white and fierce. His frame shook with the intensity of his visions, now going blank as his optics.

_The Lord High Protector._

Optimus clenched his fists as he felt disappointment curl through his frame. He didn’t know what it meant, or who the “Lord High Protector” was. “I don’t understand!”

_He faces his own darkness._

“Megatron?” Optimus whispered, the ache in his spark subsiding as Primus soothed him, stroked the pain of His own doing away.

_Keep the small spark safe._

“Small spark?”

 _All must become one._ The vision that came to him then was dark, hard to swallow that it could be a possibility. He saw the death of his friends, the death of the Decepticons. Primus pulsed a reassurance that this was only what could be, that he could change this. He could keep this from happening.

_Drink from the Well, my creation._

As his shaky servos cupped energon from the Well, Optimus felt Primus leaving his frame, his body trembling as he felt emptied of all life. The Prime drank from his servos, hesitant. His vision returned, a myriad of warnings and overheating alerts coming to light once more as he returned to his full senses. Questions arose. He shook, chestplates snapping closed as he leaned forward, grasping the edge of the Well for dear life.

In the reflection of the Well he saw Megatron, blade poised to strike him down.

* * *

Megatron had seen the light before Optimus. Whatever lead one to be brought to the Well, he wasn’t sure, but he had seen it, and he had to go. Leaving Optimus to the mercies of the Ends hadn’t been his intention, but if that were the will of his gods he would continue on.

The light was different than it had been before, even after drinking the dark energon. The chamber he entered was cold and gloomy, held no warmth or light. At the altar, where the Well should have been, there was a deep, pulsing pool of dark energon. Megatron approached, a sudden thirst coming over him.

He drank from his hands, dark energon sleeping through his seams and teasing the sensitive mylar of his digits. Finally, his thirst was sated.

Megatron sat back on his heels, vents gasping and fans on high. It was too short of a journey to have him overworked, and yet he felt as if he had run the length of the Sea of Rust.

**Kill the Prime.**

Megatron leapt to his pedes, reaching for his blade, only to find himself alone.

“Who dares approach this place?” he called, pauldrons rising and optics darting from side to side, sweeping the room. Still he came up alone. “Show yourself!”

 **You do not order me, refuse.** Megatron’s helm split with blinding pain, sending him to his knees. He shook with the force it took him to catch himself, pulling himself up by sheer force of will. **Kneel, servant.**

“No! I am no servant!” Megatron howled, drawing his blade and swinging at nothing. He looked around, finding nothing but empty space between him and the pool of dark energon. “I kneel for no one! Face me, coward!”

 **You will kneel for me.** The disembodied voice triggered another spike of pain, hot and deep in Megatron’s spark. He crowed in pain, falling against the wall to hold himself up. His sword clattered to the floor.

**Kill the Prime.**

“No!” Megatron forced his fist into the wall, the ancient brick crumbling under his strength. “He is mine! He will not come to harm!”

**It is because of his kind Old Kaon fell. Because of him you wallow in squalor and the dark.**

“Leave my helm!” Megatron picked up his sword, backing away to the entrance of the hall, turning only when he was sure none would follow him. He ran until his pedes caught one of the steps, sending him sprawled across the floor several flights down. In the distance he saw the light.

Megatron ran. He ran for the light, fear clutching his spark. He knew the voice that haunted him. Unicron had spoken to him before; never so spitefully, so full of rage. The Unmaker had been quiet before, soft and soothing at the back of his helm, like honeyed energon. He felt tricked. Megatron hated being tricked.

He saw Optimus leaning over the Well, his form trembling. He had felt the power of the Ends, Megatron realized. He was at the end of his own communication with Primus.

**If you will not kill the Prime, then you will be made to.**

Megatron dug his heels in, made himself heavy, deadweight, as his frame moved on its own accord. His pedesteps echoed in the grand hall so loudly he didn’t know why Optimus couldn’t hear him. “Optimus!” he exclaimed, hoping to rouse the Prime. Optimus remained unmoved and unbothered, his form slumping over the Well.

As his arm raised, his blade glinting, Megatron prayed he would be forgiven.

When Optimus dove to the side as his blade came down, Megatron felt relief course through him. He had surely chosen a cunning and capable mate.

“Megatron, you-“

Megatron shouted his fury, throwing his blade as far as he could as he went down, writhing and holding his helm. He battled with Unicron, his will forcing back against the sheer strength that molded his body to Unicron’s demands. He cursed and screamed, knowing he must look mad as he battled with only an enemy he could see.

He hadn’t expected Optimus to come to him, prying his servos away from his helm and cradling him to his windshield. The Prime’s chest was opening, splitting apart to show him the beautiful spark beneath. Megatron wanted to tell his mate not to, to lock himself away in case he hurt him. He hadn’t thought Optimus would start prying his own chest apart. Partway through sending the command to trigger his chestplates to open, Megatron saw it. The tiny, impossibly small spark, orbiting the Prime’s own.

Megatron opened his spark to Optimus, the visage of Unicron in his processor fading out as their sparks touched. Megatron felt light flow through him, washing away the mark of the Unmaker. He gasped and he turned away from the merge, promptly purging his tanks all over the floor.

Optimus gripped him tighter, pulling him back to his spark. He pulsed his field, enveloping Megatron in comfort and familiarity. “I know it wasn’t you,” he whispered, soothing Megatron’s guilty spark. “I know he is using you. I could feel him in your spark. But he’s gone now.”

Megatron grit his fangs together. He felt like a fool, and no amount of retribution would heal his wrongs. He had been lead astray, the Unmaker twisting him to sate his own desires. It made Megatron furious.

As the merge faded and their sparks were tucked away, Megatron reached out first, stroking Optimus’s windshield. He had seen it, the tiny spark that Optimus carried with him. “Our sparkling,” he rasped, fear seizing him. “I almost killed you. I almost killed our little one.”

Optimus froze above him, servo joining Megatron’s at his windshield. “I’m…”

“Blessed,” Megatron blurted, surging forward for a frightening kiss, his fangs clacking with Optimus’s dentae, hunger and pride driving him into the Prime’s body.

“Megatron,” Optimus gasped, shoving the mech back. “Now is not the time, we need to return. I need to go back. I must return to Iacon.”

Megatron growled, digging his claws into Optimus’s forearm. “You hold my heir, you will not leave the tribe, or my sight.”

Optimus yanked his arm back, engine revving a warning to Megatron. “You do not own me, Megatron. Your own words, you want me at your side and not your pedes. If you want me at your side then you will listen to me. We must return to Iacon, or you will not live to see your sparkling.”

The conviction of Optimus’s words was the only thing that swayed him. Megatron’s pauldrons sagged and he clenched his jaw, but nodded. “Then let us return to the tribe.”


End file.
